Super
by Airplane
Summary: Rapunzel's an honorable, crime fighting hero. And she's having a tryst. With a cat burglar. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Edna Mode's gasp of horror was completely expected.

"Dahling! What have you _done_?"

Rapunzel shrunk in on herself in an attempt to hide behind her own shoulders, offering Edna a small, cringing smile. "It's nothing, really."

"Nothing! You call _this _nothing?" Edna shook Rapunzel's jump suit like a matador preparing to take down a bull, displaying the scorch marks and the hole that had taken off one of the sleeves and a large chunk of the chest. Bits of crinkling ash fluttered into the air with Edna's enthusiasm.

"I'm alright. I managed to dodge most of the blow. I'm only burnt a little bit."

"Oh," Edna scoffed sarcastically, "thank God, _you're_. Not. Hurt." She slapped at Rapunzel's arm with the remaining sleeve to emphasize her words, causing the younger woman to jerk back and try to protect herself. Edna was small, but she was fierce.

She paused and sat back with a sigh, letting Rapunzel sit in her own uncertainty, cowering slightly in her chair.

Edna closed her eyes and silently counted to ten as she exhaled a stream of smoke from her cigarette.

"This was a work of _art,_ dahling. You have _destroyed_ my _art_."

"Sorry."

Edna ignored her. "I'm making the next one fireproof. I know you say it itches, but this cannot. Happen. Again."

"I know."

"Maybe a new lining. Something that breathes," Edna mumbled, holding the remains of the fabric up to the light and squinting. "Add some length in the arms. I think you've grown."

Rapunzel straightened. This seemed as good a time as any to bring up her second, more delicate request.

"When you make a new one, could you… make it… you know… a bit more…" she trailed off under the intensity of Edna's stare.

"More what?" she asked. Her voice slow and chilly, just daring Rapunzel to ask for something ridiculous and offensive.

Rapunzel flushed. "More… uh… sexy?"

"All my work has sex appeal, it's your _attitude_ that draws attention! How you _wear_ the clothes. How you _work_the clothes. If you can't do that, I don't want you wearing them!"

"I do work them!" Rapunzel protested.

"You are shivering in your… my God, child, are your shoes made of plastic?" Rapunzel crossed her legs at the ankle and tucked her feet further under her chair to hide her plastic, glittering sandals. Edna rolled her eyes and continued, "You're terrified just _speaking_ to _me_. And I am not wielding a flame thrower to destroy a masterpiece of fashion!"

"It's different out there. Out there, when I'm- when I'm wearing the mask, or on a rooftop, or when I'm kicking someone in the face… then I feel amazing! I feel… empowered. Do you know what that's like? How good that feels?"

This was exactly the right thing to say. Someone who hadn't known Edna as long as Rapunzel had wouldn't be able to see the subtle change in her features. But Rapunzel could tell.

She'd get her sexy outfit yet. She just needed a touch more persuasion.

"I make clothes for gods. Not street walkers," Edna said.

"It doesn't have to be anything crazy. Just a bit more..." she made a vague gesture in the general direction of her bust line, then decided that probably wasn't the best feature to emphasize and shifted the gesture towards her hips.

How was she supposed to know? It was more Edna's job to make her look alluring anyway.'

"Something distracting," she said. "But in a good way," she added hastily. Knowing Edna, she'd cover Rapunzel in feathered boas and flashing lights to make a point about never questioning her designs. "Something classy. Not that- I mean, everything you make is classy, of course. But just something that has that little extra push."

She decided to stop talking rather than dig her hole deeper, and watched as the short woman puffed away at her cigarette. Edna surveyed her client like a canvas that would need serious repair before she could begin her magic.

At long last, she hummed slightly and said, "I'm thinking… black."

Rapunzel sighed with relief.

"Black would work. You prefer to work at night. Sneaking about. Complete waste of my designs, dear. You should work in broad daylight and pose for photographs!"

"I don't think-"

"We'll keep a hint of the gold. It's your signature. Can't have people not knowing who you are. But then I guess your hair gives it away already. Hmm… But now the real question is why you abruptly want to look seductive. And you _will_ look seductive, dahling. When I'm finished with you, no amount of hiding in dark alleys will stop you from looking _ravishing_." She flicked her cigarette and aimed a piercing stare at Rapunzel over her glasses. "Tell me e_verything_."

Rapunzel hesitated. She wasn't afraid of Edna judging her. It wasn't that Edna didn't judge. No. Edna might have been the most openly judgmental person Rapunzel knew. Edna made her opinions known frequently and loudly. But she was also very open and clear about her opinions, which Rapunzel secretly liked much better than when people whispered behind her back.

Edna would judge, and she would be angry and disappointed. But Edna would never tell anyone. That was Rapunzel's real fear: that others in the super hero community, that the League of Peace would find out and be even more rude to her than they already were. That the police would find out and she would have to see the hurt and disappointment and betrayal in Sergeant Weaver's eyes. She worried that the press would find out and every citizen in the city would dismiss her and all the good she'd done. She feared that the criminal element would find out and try to use it against her, to tease her, to humiliate her, to manipulate her.

She worried Rider would find out and smirk at her like the conceited jerk he was, then say something obnoxious like, "Been having some girl talk, Blondie? Were ya thinkin' about me?"

Then his eyebrow would twitch, and she'd jump him, grabbing the front of his shirt to yank him down into a fierce, angry kiss, and his hands would roam over her new, super hot costume that accented all her curves.

And that probably wouldn't be the best idea.

No one could know. No one but Edna, who was in the business of keeping secrets and had been Rapunzel's sounding board on more than one occasion.

"I'm… having a tryst."

It felt good to get it out. It immediately made her feel lighter.

Edna looked completely uninterested. "…And?"

"And… I'm having it while I'm in disguise."

Edna rolled her eyes. "Please. That's nothing new. _Everyone's _done it. Everyone. Everywhere. People get very excited when you rescue them and then there's the mystery and the drama and the fantastic clothing-"

"Well… I didn't… exactly… rescue him."

Outwardly, Edna only changed enough to raise a single, precise eyebrow. But inside Rapunzel could feel the woman's energy grow and build up in preparation to be released on Rapunzel in the form of swatting at her with whatever object was the most convenient.

"Oh?"

"He's kind of… a – uh - cat burglar."

"A cat burglar."

"Yeah."

"One who's gotten away from you repeatedly."

Rapunzel cringed. "You know about that?"

Edna started slapping her with the remains of her burnt outfit.

It all started innocently enough - or innocently enough considering that one of them was stealing something and the other was trying to knock him unconscious.

Flynn Rider was a flirt. He was probably a flirt to everyone. He was probably a flirt even when he wasn't breaking the law. It's just the way he was. There was no getting around it.

So she would catch him and he would flirt with her. They would fight and he would flirt with her. He'd escape or get caught and he'd shout something flirty over his shoulder as he disappeared into the night or into the back of a cop car.

And Rapunzel, in all her powerful, confident, long haired glory, flirted right back. Why shouldn't she? It didn't mean anything. It was kinda fun. It was just how they communicated.

And he always looked so pleased when she flirted back.

Not that she wanted to please him or anything.

He was there to cause trouble, and she was there to stop him. It didn't matter if he was handsome, or if he sometimes made her laugh, or if she would think about him later and grin. It was good to have fun at work. Otherwise it got boring or depressing. They were on different sides and that's all there was to it.

He smirked at her, his wrists snared in her hair and pulled over his head so he couldn't escape.

She popped out a hip and sighed. "You should just give up."

"And miss moments like this? No way."

She pouted. "Is being tied up and helpless the highlight of your day? That's sad. Would you like a blindfold too?"

"Hey, whatever floats your boat, babe. I'm up for anything."

He hovered somewhere between obnoxious and boyishly endearing.

Then he started stealing kisses, which wasn't really surprising as he stole everything else.

They were on a narrow rooftop, locked in hand to hand combat. He dodged a left and a right and a left, then grabbed her fist and spun, locking her arm behind her back, and pecked her cheek before twisting away in time to dodge an elbow to the stomach.

He was still laughing when she twirled, enraged, and kicked him in the head so hard he was knocked out cold.

He was unconscious when the police arrived to take him away. Then he stayed in jail long enough to have a doctor look him over, complaining the whole time about how much it hurt. They gave him an ice pack and some Tylenol, and with that, he made his easy, predictable escape.

Then it became a thing. Like counting coup. Seeing how close he could get to her, pecking her cheek, or her neck, or her ear, or one time – strangely – her elbow. He'd do it just because it made her angry, just because it lit a fire in her eyes. Then he'd dart back, out of reach, and grin at her.

It was frustrating beyond words. She wanted to scream at him to stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. But that would only encourage him, and he didn't need any encouragement.

She wanted him to cut it out because every time he brushed her skin she wanted to tackle him to the ground and make him kiss her properly. Little, flighty kisses were just annoying.

His lips pressed against her neck, one broad hand lingering at her hip. Heat dug into her flesh at both points of contact, spreading to turn her insides to jelly, sending strings of tension through her arms, through her heart.

She shoved him away before she could do something stupid like moan. She was letting him get too close. Way too close.

"Gah! You're so bad at that!"

His eyebrows furrowed and his defensive stance lowered slightly in surprise. "Excuse me?"

She made a face and rubbed the base of her hand against her neck, as if trying to rub away the mark that still burned there.

For a second he looked genuinely upset. She really should have tried to hide her smirk better, but she couldn't help it. She liked winning and she liked it when he looked genuine.

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you are asking for all kinds of trouble."

"Bring it."

Their exchange ended when the police caught up with them, this time actually firing a few rounds.

Things changed the night when that stupid scaffolding collapsed. She found herself pinned on her back beneath a steal beam and a great pile of graying wood, only her head and one arm free. Her leg was pinned and her hair was caught and she was bruised and battered, but she'd live. Miraculously enough, she always lived.

A heap of collapsed rubble shifted nearby, and she watched as Rider kicked himself loose, finding his feet with a stumble, chips of plaster lightening his hair. He blinked in a daze, taking in the destruction around him, his eyes at last finding hers.

He took a step towards her, and it struck her that the rational action for him at that point would be to murder her while she was pinned and helpless.

An icy hand clutched at her lungs at his next hurried step. No, he couldn't kill her. Not him. Not like this. Her eyes widened and she pulled frantically against the beam holding her down, only to freeze and hold absolutely still as he sunk into a crouch beside her.

His hands ran over the beams above her, his eyes darting back and forth as if analyzing the structure of the rubble.

"What- what are you doing?" Her voice came out choked, ending in a cough.

He didn't answer, and was only pulled from his inspection by echoing shouts, approaching through the settling cloud of debris. His eyes were clouded, dazed as he looked into her face, marking all the scrapes on her skin, the fear in her eyes, the way her hair snagged.

Then he reached for her.

And panic - bitter, poisonous panic crashed through her. He wasn't going to kill her. He was going to do something worse. He'd take her mask and take her identity. He'd hold it over her, threatening to share her secret, to stalk her in the day, to hurt the (admittedly few) people she loved if she ever stood in his way.

He'd take away her power.

She told herself not to cry.

But his hand skated past her eyes, past her mask, past her covered freckles, to cup her cheek in a way that was almost tender.

Was his hand shaking? No, it was surely her and her adrenaline and fear.

Ever so slowly, a calloused, dirtied thumb dragged across her lower lip.

Something pulled in her chest, something hot that dripped down to her belly and mixed with her panicked nausea to give the terror a new flavor. She tried not to gasp. She tried not to press against his thumb, not to sink into the gesture with relief and pain and longing. She tried not to let her eyelashes flicker. She tried not to notice the hunger and relief in his eyes.

He stood abruptly, and turned away, escaping into the dark before her rescuers could appear.

The episode haunted her, eating at her in ways that were new and weird and completely uncomfortable. She was distracted at work and twitchy at home, only really taking her thoughts out to look at them when she was curled up in bed in the dark where no one could see her think.

She ran her fingers over her lip, imagining.

At their next encounter, she chased him when he fled, all the uncertainty and aggravation and sleepless nights giving her speed. They ducked through alleyways, darting around blind corners, left and right and over toppled trash cans. Her hair flew out behind her and his running footsteps splashed and echoed.

She trapped him in a dead end, nearly running him into a brick wall before he turned to block the first of her punches. He dodged a loop of hair that whipped towards his head, aiming a blow to her midriff with the butt of his hand. She skidded to the side and threw out a kick, followed by another loop of hair, catching him in the knee, then pulling him down. He caught the follow up aimed at his head and twisted to flip her, but he was off balance, his leg still trapped and turned awkwardly.

He stumbled back, taking a quick flurry of blows to the stomach. And he found himself pressed to the wall, her victorious grin even with his face.

He panted, cringing and arching his back to stretch the sore muscles in his abs. "That last one stung."

She preened, bouncing on her toes and leaning towards him to rub it in, to make sure he could see every smug sparkle in her eyes.

He raised an eyebrow and managed the beginnings of a smirk. "Proud of yourself?"

"Very." Her voice sounded strange, even to herself. Smooth. Sultry.

"It's not every day you have me pinned to a wall."

"Mmm. Only like twice a week." Why was she still so close? That wasn't smart at all.

His eyes slid pointedly to her lips, his voice changing slightly to match her own. "It's been far too long. I don't know how you manage to reign it in."

"I work off steam through exercise."

"Ah."

"Hmm." Then she closed that last inch between them.

The kiss was its own kind of fight, played out in the dark of closed eyes and the heat of her pounding heart. Both tried to outdo each other, to overpower each other, to tease and revel and silently plead for more. She tried to take everything she wanted without giving anything in return, and he tried to do the same, so they just took and took from the endless well of lust that bubbled up between them, around them, inside them.

One of her hands tangled in the hair at the base of his skull, pulling him deeper as she pressed tight against him, feeling his labored breath against her chest, letting each strain and release roll through her body.

With her other hand she handcuffed him to a pipe.

She pulled back as they clicked into place, just enough to lick her lips and smirk up at him through her eyelashes.

"Sneaky," he murmured, a rich hum she could practically taste, one that nearly drew her in again, one that promised that if she'd just let him go, they could really get down to it.

Instead she grinned and bounced back, just out of reach, to bob on the balls of her feet and look enormously pleased with herself, before practically skipping away.

The police reported that they found a pair of empty handcuffs right where she said she'd left him.

He spent the next week shooting knowing looks at her and smirking, which wasn't really all that different from what he usually did.

She couldn't remember how they ended up in the abandoned subway tunnel. Honestly, after a while all their escapades started to run together.

She was losing ground, blocking and blocking and dodging and blocking. Sweat clung to her hairline. He pushed her and pushed her and she was moving faster than she had in weeks. Then she miss-stepped. And his hand came at her head. And she cringed against a blow that never came, only to find that he had grabbed her to pull her tight against his chest and seal his mouth over hers.

It's strange how heightened emotions could turn so easily. They could twist and change into passion of a different form – furious to desirous, rage to hunger. They were like two sides of the same emotion, one feeling viewed from different angles. They flowed into one another, sweeping her up and carrying her along.

Their lips worked furiously against each other, as he tried to draw out all her power and confidence and sunlight, breathe her in like a drug, taste her with reckless abandon.

That's what it was: reckless. She was stupid and she doomed them both the moment she pushed onto her toes and threw an arm around his neck, the moment she melded against him, kissing him back with a fever that made him groan.

One hand fisted in her hair, pulling and painful in a way that was raw and visceral. His other hand rubbed down her side to grab her rear, pulling her up, pulling her closer, squeezing her in ways that were so _good_. Every fiber of her being, every piece but her conscience wanted him, wanted to touch him, to possess him, to have him do terrible things to her.

But her conscience could complain really loudly.

She broke free with a gasp of cold air, still wrapped in his arms, his face still far too close to hers.

"This is wrong," she whispered.

"Is it?"

Her grip on his shirt tightened and his lips descended towards hers once more.

"I'll give you a five second head start. Then I'm chasing you again."

He blinked at her. And then he was gone, leaving her cold and alone and counting to nearly forty.

She set up early at the museum, crouching high in the rafters just over the most convenient discrete exit, with the best possible view of the main hall. She could wait there all night if she had to. She'd done it before in much more foreboding places.

Even from her perch she could see the soft glow of the museum's latest acquisition. The great ruby sat on a squat, ostentatious pillar in the middle of the room, set in a place of honor directly under the glass domed ceiling.

Part of her expected Rider to drop from that dome. That kind of flamboyancy was his style. But at the same time, the room was so open that she'd catch him before he was even half way down.

In the half dark of the museum at night, the ruby called to her. If she stared at it too long, she started feeling fuzzy and dull. Clearly, she wasn't alone in this, as the security guards that patrolled below seemed uneasy, almost spooked. She watched them halt their patrols to stare at the ruby, before shaking their heads to clear them then hurry off in a different direction.

It was a ridiculously large ruby - nearly the size of her fist – with a long, bloody history, which would drum up the price to something that would intrigue any thief worth his salt. But on top of that, it was enveloped in rumors of magic that would make it nearly priceless.

It was sure to lure Rider. He liked gaudy, shiny things and the rush and pride and publicity that came with such high profile burglaries.

Plus it was Friday. He always worked on Fridays. Maybe he was busy in his normal life most other nights with work or his family or something. Guessing at what Rider got up to when he wasn't being an obnoxious criminal entertained her through several long nights of stake outs.

Did he spend his days negotiating with the mob, or fencing his spoils on the black market? Was he secretly a bored billionaire looking for a thrill? Was he trying to pay off the hospital bills for his sick mother? Her favorite wild theories were that he was either a pediatrician or the understaffed co-director of an animal shelter.

Maybe he had no social life and therefore nothing better to do. That was fine. Rapunzel didn't have any plans either.

So she sat and waited, watching the guards and the domed roof, eating healthy snacks she had stuffed into the cargo pockets on her pants, and mentally rewriting one of the songs on the radio so the lyrics made more sense.

She was half way through her third granola bar when the power went out, plunging the room into darkness. A few second's confusion, muffled questions and fumbling, and a beam of light from one of the guards' flashlights fell on the ruby display, illuminating an empty pillar.

She snapped to her feet, searching the floor below as flashlight beams spun wildly and panicked shouts almost covered the sound of quietly retreating feet. Taking a breath, she held herself back two more heartbeats, and dropped to the floor, landing right on top of Rider and knocking him to the floor with an "oof!"

She pinned his arms to the ground by his head, straddling his waist to keep him in place, and glowered at him in the dark, her face close enough to his that she could just make out the security guard uniform he was wearing.

It was a new MO for him. If no one saw him or recognized him as he stole something, what was the point?

"Blondie," he groaned, grimacing against whatever injuries he received falling to the ground. "There's a time and a place for things like this."

"This is a fine time. Look, there's moonlight and everything!"

He struggled to throw her off in a scuffle of grabbing hands and jabbing elbows, until she seized his dark grey tie, jerked him forward, and slammed him back down again. He cringed and hissed, an in his momentary daze, she patted down his pockets in search for the ruby.

He only held still for a moment, before shifting his hips beneath her, giving her a hazy smirk.

"You look ridiculous in that outfit," she snapped. It was dark and she wasn't entirely sure that was true (in fact she guessed it probably wasn't), but it would irritate him and might shine some light on the strangeness of his methods.

"Slander! I look good in anything. And it took a lot of work to get these."

"I don't believe you."

"Yeah. I had to come up with a fake name, fill out an application, stand around this room for the last few days…"

Her hand paused its roaming over his chest. "Wait. They _hired _you?"

"Yep!"

The incompetence of some people astounded her. Was she seriously the only one who could be trusted to keep Rider and people like him in check?

"I know what you're thinking," he sighed, "and you're right. Everyone here is inept. They don't even offer dental benefits."

The security guards were still shouting to each other as they moved farther away towards the entrance to the museum. The beam of a flashlight skimming just above her head.

She was going to have to handle him on her own.

Again.

She snatched the ruby from the waistband of his pants in one, clean movement. It was warm in her palms - from some odd, internal power or from Rider's body heat, it was hard to tell. She cupped it in her hands and forced herself not to look at it, not to think about how it was singing to her or how Rider's shirt had come partially untucked from his pants.

His hands were on hers a second later, fingers digging into her wrist, the ruby's edges jabbing against her palms. A sharp burst of pain shot up her arm as he twisted it to pry it away. He jerked to throw her off, or flip them over. If she hadn't dug her knee into the flesh just below his ribs, he might have succeeded.

"No. You're not getting it away from me this time. I've worked too hard."

She grit her teeth and pulled.

The lights flickered back on just long enough for her to see that his nametag read "Harold," just long enough for her to think that was a ridiculous name, and just long enough to see his expression slip from determined to shocked at the sight of something behind her back.

Then the ceiling exploded.

Glass showered over them, and she found herself thrown to the floor under Rider, her forehead pressed to his cheek, his hands thrown over his head to shield their faces.

And from the jagged hole in the ceiling, a great, black beast snarled and clawed its way into the museum. All spikes and battered wings, clicking claws and green wisps of smoke, it smelled of brimstone and rotten flesh, its scales of blackest night with an underbelly of shining, venomous purple.

Rider turned, glass sparkling in his hair, and he swore under his breath before jumping to his feet, pulling Rapunzel up next to him.

"Maleficent," she breathed.

The dragon scrambled around, one wing thrusting into the building through the narrow entrance, expanding out with the snap of rippling sails and shattering a display on the mezzanine. Its cruel, yellow eyes searched the floor in the center of the room, kicking at the toppled column when the ruby did not appear.

Rider swore again, snatching the stone from Rapunzel's loosened grip and grabbing her arm to pull her away.

But she froze as the dragon's eyes locked on her face, staring into her soul, stealing her breath. She felt exposed. Helpless. As if ice water had been poured down her spine. As if she weren't a super hero at all, just a scared girl with no friends and no family. She was a freak and no one would ever love her. Never ever ever.

And then its eyes shifted, releasing her. Finally she was able to feel the tug on her arm as Rider tried to drag her away, finally she was able to gasp in a breath. Or rather she was until she realized the beast had turned its attention to the ruby in Rider's hand.

Its shoulders tensed like a snake rearing back to strike, and she and Rider exchanged the briefest of glances before bolting in opposite directions.

Maybe he knew what she was doing. Maybe not. It didn't really matter and it was too late to change her mind anyway.

She charged headlong at the beast, snatching at her hair as she ran, hoping against hope she could move fast enough. It ignored her completely, its attention trained solely on Rider, its great neck turning away to track him across the great hall, its chest expanding as it prepared a deep, fiery breath. She jumped, throwing her hair with all her might, catching the monster by the snout, even as a stream of green flame broke free from its mouth.

Planting her feet, yanking with everything she had, she jerked the creature's neck just enough that it missed its target. It snapped its jaws in frustration and cut off its flames, jerking Rapunzel across the floor as she heaved and slipped on the glass, drawing the beast's maw tighter with each tug and snap. It surged against its impromptu muzzle, threatening to rip right through her hair.

The guards reappeared then, shouting to one another or to her or the dragon, she couldn't tell. A single swipe of its tail and they were all thrown across the room, putting their shouting to an abrupt and bone crushing end.

It shook its head and she flew clean off her feet, to whip across the room, and skid across the ground, glass shards nicking into her face and fingers as she held on for dear life. Her flight ended when she smashed into a column, the breath forced from her lungs, her chest and back and sides exploding with pain.

She looked up in a daze, groaning and bloody. Her vision blurred and her ears rung and all she could see were a pair of yellow eyes and a trickle of green smoke.

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. She was dizzy and not entirely sure she could keep her legs under her. She swallowed and met the dragon's gaze.

Her hand clinked against something as it reached to the floor in an effort to push herself up, and she looked down in mild curiosity to see one of the larger shards of glass, shattered to a razor sharp point.

And then she had a plan – a stupid, crazy plan. But she was a hero. She was magical. She was proud and amazing, and she was not going down like this.

She stood, staring down the monster, the glass shard cutting into her fingers, blood dripping into her eye.

Maleficent twitched once, then let loose a roar and another burst of flame as Rapunzel threw herself to the side, rolling behind a pillar. The blast at her back licked around either side of the column, and she breathed through the pain until the flames weakened and she slipped back out into the main hall. She ducked a swing of its tail and skidded on her knees up to its claws, twisting out of the way to dodge a swipe from its talons.

In one movement, she stabbed into the creature's leg, a howl bursting from its jaws, and looped her hair around its foot, bringing in to its knees. She yanked the shard out, black blood hissing into the air, and pushed herself onto its leg, using it like a step onto its spiny back. Clinging to its spines as it shook, she stabbed her glass shard into the dragon's back wherever she could as she stole up its neck, her grip slipping through the blood on her fingers.

The beast bent and twisted, swiping at her with its talons once more, but with another yank of her hair, it dropped to its knees again with a pained snarl.

And then she was on its head, where there was nothing to hold onto but its fire-breathing nostrils and its huge sharp teeth, and wasting no time where she could fall from its bucking form, she plunged her glass shard into its eye. She leapt free as it threw its head back and howled.

She dropped hard to the floor and rolled before finding her feet again.

The world spun, or maybe it was the pounding of the dragon's feet that shook the floor. It thrashed, great billows of flame scorching the ceiling, until it dropped its head and glowered at her through its one good eye.

Her legs were shaking and the pain in her chest had only intensified. Bits of her hair were singed or torn.

So she dodged. But not fast enough. A fireball hit her shoulder, throwing her backwards as pain exploded through her arm, through her neck, across her skin, eating her from the inside out like a curse.

That was about when everything went dark.

She remembered the flashes of sirens, the cracks of gunfire, maybe another roar. She remembered that someone shouted her name, but she couldn't remember which name it was.

Edna pursed her lips and took a long drag of her cigarette. She looked terribly unimpressed with Rapunzel's story.

"You ruined your suit fighting a dragon."

"Yes."

She exhaled two thick streams from her nostrils, looking a bit like a dragon herself.

"Where is Aurora in all of this? I never would have expected her to miss an opportunity to fight her greatest foe."

Rapunzel bit her tongue and took a breath before explaining. "Rose is doing a semester abroad. She's taking a brief break. The league were all behind her decision. They told her not to worry and that they would watch out for Maleficent."

One of Edna's eyebrows twitched. "Seems like they aren't doing their jobs. Letting a super villain like that roam loose. _Honestly_."

Rapunzel had to agree. What was the point of having a team of super heroes, if they weren't going to help one another with major problems like vindictive, evil dragons? But that was a silly question. They had a team so they could whine together about how hard their lives were and then get very expensive manicures.

Or so she imagined.

"Well," Edna said, turning her attention back to the destruction that was the yellow jump suit, "I guess it is good that you're alive."

"Thank you."

"The police helped you?"

"Yes. Sergeant Weaver said they were able to scare her away pretty quickly." She shrugged. "It was injured and they had guns."

"Hmm. And the ruby?"

Rapunzel paused. "They didn't find the ruby. Witness reports say that Maleficent took it."

"Witness reports," Edna repeated.

Rapunzel nodded, her throat raspy and dry. "One of the guards reported everything he saw, that the lights went out, and then the dragon broke in through the ceiling. It took the ruby, then fought with me until the police came."

Then when she passed out, the guard lifted her and carried her to the ambulance outside. He quit the next day, citing that dragon attacks were bad for his health.

"Here, dahling," Edna said, dumping the remains of the yellow suit into Rapunzel's lap and standing to make another round of coffee. "My arm is tired. Swat yourself for me, won't you?"

The new suit was delivered to her apartment about a week later. It was delivered by a courier and arrived in a brown paper bag that made it look like Chinese take away.

Her old, yellow outfit was a bit like a flight suit, with a bunch of pockets to hold all her stuff – handcuffs, lock picks, smoke bombs, peanut brittle, whatever.

It was loose enough so she could move. When she first got it, Edna had suggested a form fitting thing that made Rapunzel balk. Who would ever want to wear pants that tight? What was the point? She'd feel suffocated, and she wasn't going to impress anyone with the shape of her legs.

It was also a bright yellow, only a few shades off from her blonde hair. Edna called the color "_Gold_!" and Rapunzel didn't argue with her, but she was sure the color was yellow.

So all in all, it was not the most attractive thing. It was practical and it was comfy and it had been her one and only suit, a symbol of her heroic identity.

And now she'd outgrown it. Now she was secretly excited to show off her legs.

The new suit certainly did that. It looked like it had been painted onto her skin, like the fabric was hugging her tight. But it wasn't nearly as constricting as she'd thought it would be.

It was black, as Edna said, with a gold stripe up either side. Actual gold this time, not pretend gold. Instead of pockets, there was a belt around her waist with compartments. It slid down one of her hips and for a moment she wondered how she would fight in it if it was so loose, but then she decided that it looked cool enough that she could deal with it.

There was a zipper up the front, that when zipped seemed to disappear into the fabric except for a shining circular zipper pull. She could tell that fiddling with it would be her latest bad habit. She tried zipping it to her throat, only to find that no matter how hard she pulled, it would only zip to barely above her chest.

It was too small! No. Wait. It was supposed to be like that.

She stared at herself in the mirror, at the way the fabric folded back to form a kind of collar, the only place it wasn't adhered to her skin. She stretched a bit, and the suit moved with her. Then she turned to look at her back over her shoulder and blushed furiously at the sight of her butt.

She looked good. She felt good. For the first time in three weeks, she felt like she was up for going out.

Maleficent spent one afternoon of her absence perched on the spire of the tallest building, roaring and swatting at windows with her tail, lighting busses on fire and eating several antennae. She terrorized everyone to the point where they evacuated most of downtown.

Rapunzel watched the situation on the news, growing more and more anxious as the hours passed and no one came to shoo her away. Several times she stood to charge out and take care of it herself, but then her shoulder would twinge and she would remember that she didn't have a suit.

She suspected Edna had taken her time preparing it. Maybe she just let the completed suit sit on her counter for two weeks.

Rider had also robbed two banks while she was out of commission. He'd done such a good job of robbing the first one that no one had even known there was a burglary until the next morning. She could only imagine how much that frustrated him. During his second heist, he made a point of waving at the security cameras and triggering the alarm on his way out.

He wanted an audience, and preferably one that could appreciate the effort he put into it and the finesse with which he executed his plans.

He wanted to get caught. It would be impolite to keep him waiting.

There were a few times when she had completely misjudged where he would strike next, but those times were few and far between. He was always pretty obvious. Or at least Rapunzel thought so.

The bank manager was not pleased to see her. They never were. He was twitchy and clearly unsure if he should adamantly deny that a burglary was possible or throw his doors open and give her everything she needed. In the end he did something in the middle: staring at her in stunned silence as he showed her to the vault, then awkwardly asking if he could get her some water.

She made herself at home, cross-legged on the floor, and with a final cringe he left her to it, cutting most of the lights as he locked up for the night.

Four hours passed before anything happened at all. She spent that time quietly braiding a small tress of hair at her temple and debating whether or not she should get a hamster.

A quiet beep, so soft that it could easily be overlooked or dismissed, and a blink of the steady red light on the security camera indicated that someone had over-ridden the system, recording a short shot of the empty vault to run it on a loop later.

She watched the camera with mild interest from just outside its viewing range, waiting patiently for the second beep to show that the loop had started. Then she stood and planted herself just inside the vault door to wait again and roll the cricks from her stiffening shoulders.

Her unimpressed expression was the first thing he saw as the door clanked open.

He froze, brought up short by her presence, and the blatant surprise on his face would have made her gleefully happy as a sign that she was yet again a step ahead, she was back and taking him by surprise and winning at least this one, tiny psychological battle. She could have ingrained the image in her mind, filing his shock away for a rainy day when it would make her smile.

But there was something else in his expression, something that was glad in a way that didn't translate into a smirk. It tainted her victory with levels of emotion she didn't understand. She didn't want to understand. She didn't want to deal with it, to deal with him when he was acting like anything other than a friendly rival.

"Blondie," he murmured, and it sounded too much like a sigh, which raised her defenses immediately. He moved towards her, eyes focused on her face as if the rest of the world had disappeared, as if he'd forgotten what he was doing, forgotten who he was.

So she hit him, throwing a left jab to his sternum that brought a quick end to his approach and threw him stumbling back about two paces.

It seemed like the thing to do.

He was getting carried away, and too close and too lustful after weeks without a rival to tease. And… and… yeah, hitting him was a good plan.

She threw a flurry of punches at his stomach, sending him skittering backwards to avoid her. Bending back and to the side, he dodged a an uppercut, and narrowed his eyes at her, circling to her left. She could hit him if she threw a right, but he knew it was coming and he would grab her wrist and twist. The thought of what that might do to her shoulder made her hesitate.

She pivoted instead of lashing out, and he circled around her, staying just out of reach, his eyebrows moving higher and higher in an endlessly frustrating way. She nearly tripped over her hair as their turn brought them all the way around, infuriating her further.

"Bit out of shape?" he asked.

That did it. With a growl of irritation she shouldn't have shown, she snapped her hair over a rafter, around his ankles, and jerked him straight into the air.

He hung there, upside-down and blinking, his hair hanging in a funny kind of way. She scowled at him before strolling over to one of the teller's stations to activate the alarm.

"New suit?" he called after her. "Nice."

She stalked back to face him as he swung back and forth, his arms extended oddly to the side. He seemed to realize how silly he looked and moved to mimic her posture, crossing his arms over his chest.

She glowered at him.

He glowered right back, something mocking her in the twitch of his eyebrows.

They didn't have to wait long before a barrage of sirens and flashing lights in red and blue cut off their silent glaring match. Probably for the best. She was starting to get irritated with him and his silence and the weird faces he was making again.

He sighed as the doors swung open, and muttered, "We'll talk later," before twisting around to face the oncoming stream of police officers with a grin and a "hey guys!"

And what did he mean by _that_? Since when did he want to talk? What did they even have to talk about? No. He was going to jail. And he was going to _stay there_. There wouldn't be an opportunity to talk later because she was _not_ going to visit him.

So there.

A few quick tugs on her hair and Rider collapsed to the floor, landing on his face in a heap.

There had to be a dozen officers, and he was handcuffed, and everyone was watching…

So it took him a full thirty seconds to escape once he got outside. He head butted the officer at his elbow, hopped over his handcuffs, kicked an officer into two others, and took off with what she swore was a wink in her direction.

They all chased him, but only Rapunzel kept up for long. After five blocks of back alleys, she trailed him up a fire escape to a roof and took a flying leap onto the next building, then the next and the next, her hair flying in the cool night air, her footsteps heavy in the dark. Four rooftops over, a pair of arms darted out from the shadows to grab her and pull her back, out of sight, into the dark. Struggling and kicking, her arms caught at her sides, she stomped on his foot repeatedly until he grunted and hissed at her.

"Hey! Calm down. It's me!"

Who else would it be? And honestly! The fact that it was him shouldn't have been a reason to calm. He was the bad guy here. She had no reason to trust him. They were arch nemeses! If he was saying stupid things like that, it just went as a sign that they'd taken this tryst a few steps too far.

She stopped struggling and looked over her shoulder at him in disdain and irritation.

"I just have one question, Blondie. Time out until I get an answer, okay?" His breath was warm against her ear, his low voice sending a thrum down her spine. "Then you can beat me senseless to your little heart's content."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," he purred. "I would."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged him away from her ear. "What do you want?"

"When's Aurora coming back from wherever the league of spiteful harpies sent her?"

She blinked at him.

One of the things she appreciated about Rider was how much he disliked the league. It wasn't in the normal way that criminals disliked people trying to catch them. Rider didn't like them for the same reasons Rapunzel didn't like them: they were petty, two faced, mean-spirited, and cliquish.

The other women looked down their perfectly formed noses at her and her weird powers. Having absurdly long hair? What was the point of that? Creepy!

Rapunzel suspected that they were all just jealous. They tried to have huge amounts of hair and came up short. Glass Slipper obviously stuffed her updo to give it volume, and Mergirl always made sure to stand in front of a fan or something so her mess of red hair sprawled out around her like some sort of sea monster.

It wasn't like having long hair was her only skill! She could fight and she was smart and she was quick. And her hair wasn't just long. She could change its length and color at will. That was pretty neat! But of course she hadn't told anyone. Best to play close to the chest when it came to her powers and her identity, even in the company of people who called themselves friends.

So Rider's question filled her with a kind of faded pride. _Her _criminal was smart enough to know they were bitches.

But asking about Rose was still out of the blue.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I miss her smiling face. I bet the two of us could have a real good time."

She scowled in distaste.

"Maybe you could switch off with her when she gets back," he suggested, his voice quickly dropping is flirtatious tone to be replaced with something fierce and biting. "She owes you after the times she's left you _dog sitting._"

She shook her head and corrected him. "It's not a dog. It's a dragon. And it's comments like that that make it angry. When it comes crashing in like that someone has to take care of it."

"And why does that someone have to be-"

He cut himself off, swallowing to push back whatever emotion he had momentarily let loose. It sounded a bit too much like indignant anger and possessiveness.

Maybe it was just the way he was holding her.

No, not holding. Restraining.

"When's she coming back?"

"I have no idea."

He narrowed his eyes, pulling back slightly to get a better view of her face, trying to detect the lie, to read the answer as if it were printed across her mask. It took him a moment before he rolled his eyes and repeated himself. "When's she coming back?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because! You might use it to plot some… some _mischief_!"

"Mischief?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. I like the sound of that."

His nose pressed into the soft flesh just under her ear, just below her jaw, easing her head to the side for access to the column of her throat. A hand slid up her body until his finger hooked over her zipper. Slowly he dragged it down from between her breasts to just past her navel, completely ignoring the zipper pull that she thought was so neat in favor of letting a fingertip skate over each inch of revealed skin as it erupted in shivers.

"Did I mention that I like the new outfit?"

It was always hard for her to decide how to react to things like this. In her everyday life she would shriek and blush, pull away and tug her zipper back into place, probably hugging herself when she was done. But that would mean he'd gotten to her, and she couldn't have that. Not after he'd made her bristle so much already.

She could get mad, burst free to beat him to a bloody pulp, glaring and hissing. He'd learn his lesson then. He'd fear her. But then he would stop. His hands would pull away, and she wasn't sure if she wanted that or not, not when he was touching her like this, not when her judgment was starting to cloud.

She could encourage him, rock back against him, and bat her eyelashes seductively. She could close her eyes and let loose a moan. She could give in and let him do what he wanted. But then that was terrifying too.

So she ignored him, staring straight ahead at the skyline, treating the whole experience like a minor annoyance that didn't affect her in the slightest. He'd get bored in a moment.

"I never would have guessed."

"Much better than that yellow jumpsuit."

"What was wrong with the old one?"

"Nothing. You were adorable."

"_Adorable_?"

He flicked her collar to the side to get a look at her bra, and she mentally cheered that she happened to be wearing the blue one. It wasn't super sexy, but it wasn't one of the ones she bought in a six pack either.

He muttered against the base of her neck, "This one's _so _much better."

His hand slipped into her suit, warm and firm against her stomach, fingers curling around her side, drawing her back, flush against his chest, possessive and intoxicating. His other hand ran up her arm to her collar bone, imprinting the new fabric texture into his fingers, setting her nerves alight, testing to make sure the material was fireproof. He peeled back her collar enough to reveal her bra strap and a hint of the bandage on her shoulder.

She blinked as realization dawned, as she finally let it settle and take root in her mind.

"You were worried about me!"

"What?"

She turned her head to smirk at him, but it was too happy and not nearly smug enough to count. "You're worried!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, if you want to look at the burn on my shoulder you don't have to go through this much trouble. All you have to do is ask."

"Why on earth would I want to look at your burn mark? That's disgusting."

"I don't know, Rider. Why would you?"

He clenched his jaw and scowled, grinding his teeth for a moment before answering. "…You're favoring your right."

She shrugged. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Me? Worry? About you? Please. You wish."

"It's cute."

He did not like the way things were going, and pushed his hand lower, his fingertips slipping over the hem of her underwear, brushing her hipbone, drawing out a sharp, reflexive breath, putting the conversation to a definitive end.

He let her pull herself together for only a moment before murmuring again into her ear. "You say all I have to do is ask, huh?"

Her eyes squeezed closed and she forced herself to breathe, but it came out shaky and tensed. He held her so tight, he could definitely feel it. She breathed and held absolutely still, hoping and pleading that he wouldn't ask. She couldn't handle it. She'd give in.

She'd give in and leave herself completely vulnerable, and vulnerability – real, raw vulnerability - was one of the few things that truly terrified her.

So she waited, strung out and tensed from the pressure of his hand and the pressure of the wait, drawing every muscle and every nerve, making them thinner, brittle.

She didn't move.

And he didn't ask.

Instead he let out a breath and pressed his forehead and his nose to her temple. "Edna Mode's outdone herself."

Her shoulders dropped, and part of her hated that he could see her relief so clearly. "Yeah. I like it."

"You should. You look good."

"Maybe you should go see her. Then you can look good too."

"Ouch."

"No, I'm serious! She won't mind that you're not her usual kind of client. And she's very discreet."

"And she'd make me wear a mask or a hat or something. That would be a _real_ crime."

Rapunzel shrugged. "She said to tell you to stop by. She thinks your T-shirt and jeans look is a waste." She'd also said a lot of other things about him, which were either too rude to repeat, or would make his head inflate until he was impossible to deal with.

More impossible.

If that was… possible.

He shifted slightly to arch an eyebrow at her, and she realized her mistake a moment too late. Her eyes widened and the smirk on his face grew to painfully obnoxious levels.

"Been talking about me, Blondie?"

"I- No! She brought it up!"

"Suuure."

"I- Don't-"

He brushed his nose against her hair once more, murmuring into her ear, "Give me a five second head start?"

"No."

She spun to lash out at him, but he'd already nipped at her earlobe and slipped away.


	2. Chapter 2:1

**Part 2.1**

She landed on the roof in a roll, the gravel pressing into her palms and knees as she popped immediately to her feet. In front of her, Rider didn't make the landing as well, stumbling to find his feet again, and hopping slightly the first few steps to shake out the leg that had twisted under him. It gave her enough time to catch up with him and shove him off balance.

He slid the the side, blocking her first punch and planting his feet in preparation for the fight from which he'd been running. Their chases had fallen into a pattern, running that paused for fighting, which transformed into groping one another, followed by more running. A few nights previously she had caught him twice in his escape. She had a feeling he was purposefully running slower for the second leg of their race.

The only difference tonight was that she had got the drop on him before he stole anything. She caught him on his way there. Now they were looping around and around the Ritz Hotel, as if he still intended to rob it when he managed to get far enough ahead of her.

Could he rob it while fighting her? That would be impressive, especially as the commotion would bring a whole swarm of security down on him.

He ducked, one way, then the other, slipping back and forth with a fluidity like trying to catch a wave with her clenched fist. He took a blow to the stomach, giving him an opportunity to land a blow of his own, pushing her back, changing the tide of the scuffle in his favor as they paced backwards together, blocked blow after blocked blow, one crunching forward pace for each of her backwards steps. He pushed and pushed, hitting each wall of resistance, descending on her like a dark cloud of electric energy and power.

Her back hit the wall and her grasped wrists followed immediately, pinned on either side of her face, the rough stone scraping into her knuckles. And then they were fighting a different battle, one of opened mouth kisses and panting breath, one where she growled and pulled at her hands to break loose, kissing him harder, one where he pressed against her more tightly, more completely, possessive and determined.

It baffled her how he could be so frustrating _all the time_. Restraining her didn't accomplish anything but making her annoyed, annoyed to be put in a position of relative helplessness, annoyed that with his hands occupied he wasn't touching her. She fought against it by deliberately rolling her hips against him and biting into his lip. As long as she fought back just as passionately, he wasn't really winning. As long as she didn't just sigh in bliss and let him ravish her.

Maybe she liked being shove up against a wall. Did he think of that? No. So there.

His mouth dropped to her throat, biting and sucking enough to leave a mark, licking at her sweat salted skin, reveling in the flutter of her pounding heart. Her leg bent, her thigh riding slowly up his leg, her foot pressing against his calf, until he dropped one of her hands to pull her more firmly against him, his fingers rubbing circles into the flesh of her hip, her ass, her thigh, focusing the pressure building between them into something molten.

She used her new found freedom to fist her fingers in his hair, tugging painfully and getting him thoroughly rumpled, dragging his mouth closer, deeper, down past her collar bone towards her chest, where he focused his attention in a way that was almost ironically dutiful and obliging.

She pulled him up for another kiss, pressing up against his full height and dragging as much from him as should could, savoring the hope that she could make him crumple even as he looked down at her, that she could make his greater strength meaningless, that even as the underdog she could be victorious, making the triumph all the more sweet.

He groaned running his hand over her ribs, breaking the kiss to breathe her name. It was pained and needy, a crack in his facade as he tried to hold himself back, as he tried not to give in to her completely.

"Blondie."

And when he kissed her again it was deeper, slower, more enraptured, as if he was sinking, a change so pronounced yet still so ardent that her shoulders rolled back and her head spun and she cupped his face in her hand with an undercurrent of tenderness they'd never shown each other before. His arm wrapped around her, to hold rather than restrict, to envelop rather than possess, and she was so ensnared in the moment that she forgot to bask in his defeat.

"Too bad we can't just do this all night," he said, his eyes closed, his lips barely leaving hers.

"Why can't we?"

"Aww, Honey, I gotta work."

"No, you don't."

His eyes eased open, and she could see his guard slowly fall back into place.

"You don't have to," she said, fighting not to lose the moment, to cling to it and him and not let her confidence slip away. "We could just... stay here?"

"This your new crime fighting strategy? Keeping me busy through seduction?"

"No. I- You're just wasting your talents stealing stuff. You could be helping people. You could be doing so much good."

He rolled his eyes and the moment was over, his posture changing completely. "What? You want me to give up? Go straight? That it?"

Despite the sarcastic derision in his tone, for one fleeting, blissful moment, she couldn't help but imagine the possibilities. She squashed the idea as fast as it arose, but he clearly saw some emotion dance across her face, causing him to look at her, assessing her in a way she didn't like at all.

He lowered his head and lowered his voice, watching her with warm, lust filled eyes and drawing her close again, this time trying to lure, to persuade.

"Come with me."

"What?"

His hand slid to brush against the side of her breast, causing her breath to catch against her will. "Think of it, Blondie. Together we'd be unstoppable. You 'n me - we'd have Corona on its knees."

She blinked at him, too shocked and confused to respond. Then his eyebrows rose slightly in encouragement and the disgust at his proposition came crashing down on her.

"How- No! Never!"

He rolled his eyes again, and her rage boiled up to take the place of whatever stupid emotions had been controlling her. She shoved him away, her eyes narrowing in a glare, her stance dropping into something aggressive.

There was something in the set of his jaw and the slight frown on his face as he backed away. It was like he was irritated with himself for voicing the idea, for expecting anything different, for setting her off so that she threw up the wall between them once more. For putting himself out there or allowing himself to hope.

The idea that he actually might want that just made her irritation more acute. Irritation. Not terror that their relationship had gotten too close, that he might actually like her.

Not terror at all.

* * *

><p>Rapunzel lived in a tired, old apartment building, tucked away on a little-used street on the East side. The neighborhood left enough to be desired that most people had flat out abandoned it, leaving only small, failing businesses, graffiti, and anywhere from one to two dozen drug dealers.<p>

But it wasn't the worst place in town, and Rapunzel didn't mind it so much. It was private and the rent was cheap.

Although they had a landlord, Rapunzel had only seen him once. Any repairs that needed to be made to the water heater or the stairs or the pipes would only get fixed if one of the tenants fixed them. Rapunzel didn't really mind that either. She liked being proactive. She liked taking control of her fate and her life.

The first floor was occupied by a storefront pizzeria, run by a fat man named Charlie, who tried to stay gruff, but somehow managed to still be a sweetheart. When she came home, tired and sore after a long night of stopping crime or fighting with Rider or sitting and waiting, Charlie always gave her some cannoli and let her watch his television.

Most of the apartments on the second floor were unoccupied. The exceptions were a little old woman named Edith, who had lived there for nearly twenty years and had no energy to move, and a young man with a beanie and circles under his eyes. Rapunzel tried not to make assumptions about people. Maybe he worked very hard and thus came home tired and disheveled. But it seemed more likely that he was a lazy stoner, and she had the suspicion that he was actually squatting in his apartment.

The third floor was empty.

Rapunzel lived alone on the fourth floor, in a small, studio apartment with easy access to the roof, and from there access to the next roof and the next, until the whole city spread out in front of her.

She'd had an odd night of waiting for Rider to hit a particular jewelry store. Waiting and waiting on the roof of the office complex across the street, she snuggled in between the front feet of a gargoyle in an attempt to stay warm as the night grew colder and darker, quieter as the city fell asleep. He didn't show. An hour after the latest she'd ever known him to appear, she pulled out her police scanner, shifting through the static and check-ins and the usual calls for disturbances at the university and the port.

She listened in earnest for a hint that she had missed him, some sign that she was in the wrong place. It wasn't like her to miscalculate him – other criminals, sure, but not him. It wasn't like him to pass on an opportunity to grab a tiara.

He liked tiaras.

So at last she gave up, slumping home with a crick in her neck and a chill in her fingers.

She reminded herself that these things happened. And it was actually for the best if it was a quiet night. Less crime was good. It was why she was there. This didn't stop the nagging thoughts of uselessness, foolishness, and irrational disappointment.

Maybe she was just tired.

She slipped into her dark apartment from the fire escape, deciding to just retract her hair rather than haul it all inside. For a moment she stood there, listening to the silence and the quiet brush of her hair, to the call of her bed and the shower and the night's leftover pizza downstairs. In the end the pizza won, as she figured that would make her feel the most normal. She'd have Charlie feed her, then pass out on his deteriorating sofa while she watched an infomercial and he grouched about how the latest delivery boy had quit.

Her suit felt as though it had shrunk and plastered itself to her skin. For some reason the sleeves were difficult to peel away, and she narrowed her eyes at the thought of how she'd worn it for hours without ever using it. She might as well have gone out in her comfy pajamas.

Or just stayed in!

She flicked the lights on long enough to check herself in the bathroom mirror. She hadn't done much, so there wasn't much to check - no debris in her hair or noticeable wounds, her hair short and brown, her mask and suit folded and stuffed in the odd crawl space above the shower where there was once a hinged sash window. Beyond her tired eyes, she looked perfectly normal.

She wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

The transition was always hard. Super to average. Exciting to hum drum. Impressive and powerful to shy and awkward. For a few moments she always struggled with the question of who she was, how she should react, what she was doing. She struggled to cement it in her mind and feel at home in her own skin.

Or maybe that was just part of who she was without the mask: someone who was never comfortable, never at home anywhere.

Charlie glanced up from the dough he was rolling as Rapunzel slipped into the kitchen. He offered her a pitying look and asked, "More nightmares, girlie?"

"You're in a better mood tonight."

He grinned at her, nodding absently toward some misshapen pastries not fit for public consumption. "New delivery boy."

She inhaled the first cannolo before she even made it to the sofa and perched on the arm, plucking up a second from the paper plate. "Do you think he'll stay?"

Charlie grumbled, turning back to his pizza dough as if it had personally offended him. "He better."

Rapunzel smiled to herself and settled in on the couch to watch the man on television try to sell a broom with an extendable, bendable handle. His over exuberance made her exhaustion ever more overwhelming, and she dozed off before starting the third pastry.

She woke to the smell of pizza fresh from the oven and the sounds of muffled voices.

"Do people ever stop ordering pizzas? It's almost four in the morning."

"Hunger never sleeps. And now neither do you."

"Fantastic."

"You'd best watch yourself."

"I'm watching. I'm watching."

Charlie grumbled as Rapunzel rubbed her eyes and pushed herself out of her cramped position. Maybe falling asleep there wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. Oh well. At least she'd get to meet the new delivery boy before he quit. The new delivery boy who-

Her heart stopped.

Her lungs jerked and froze. The color drained from her face, like cold water rushing to her feet, chilling every inch of skin, slowing time nearly to a stop.

Because there, in front of her, standing in Charlie's kitchen, just three floors below her apartment, was Flynn Rider.

Charlie completely missed the horror of the situation. "Oh good. You're up. Now I don't have to whisper in my own place of business. Eugene, that's Rapunzel. She lives upstairs."

Her panic boiled, hissing in wait for the moment when Rider would turn, when he would look at her, recognize her. He knew where she lived. He knew where she lived and now she had to _move_. And she'd _liked_ it here. She should attack him. Beat him and slow him down enough to give her time to grab her stuff from upstairs and escape. Beat him until he didn't remember her name or what she looked like. What was he _doing_ here? How did he find her?

And of all the fake names! Harold and now _this_? _Eugene_? Was he _crazy_!

She held her breath and tensed her muscles for an attack as he turned, gave her a tired smile, and said, "Hey."

…

_What_!

No gasp of shock. No widening of his eyes. No smirk of recognition. No overturning the table as a diversion for his escape.

No telling Charlie who and what she was.

But then that made sense. He couldn't out her without outing himself in the process. Right?

But where was that spark in his eyes? The one that said, "Found you! I win!" The one that promised eternal torment. The one to remind her of the last time they'd met and how he could mention it or think about it anytime he wanted. The thought made her blush. It was one thing to fool around with someone so absurd they couldn't possibly exist in real life. It was something completely different to fool around with someone normal, with a job and a life and maybe even feelings. Someone who wore a blue sweater vest over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

A sweater vest. She thought she might die. From embarrassment or laughter or fear or from the sheer weirdness of the whole image.

And was he wearing _glasses_? _That_ was his disguise? He couldn't be serious. This was a joke - a cruel, horrible joke. She was still asleep and this was a really bad dream.

He hadn't even done something different with his hair. Just glasses and the sweater vest and maybe the slightest change in attitude.

She_ really_ wanted to comment on the glasses. But then that would give her away. Could he not see her now? Could he not see her all those other times?

Could she ask about them later? Was that against the rules? What _were_ the rules?

Yes. This was definitely some kind of heinous torture. Right when they'd slipped into a sick kind of normalcy, he had to go and change everything and throw her off again. Jerk.

She had to remind herself not to glare at him.

Did he not recognize her? It was too surprising a thought that her disguise actually worked for her to believe it. She held herself back from grabbing at the ends of her hair to check them. If he didn't recognize her then some small part of her was offended. Such a jerk.

What was she supposed to do? Just as he couldn't say anything in mixed company, she couldn't either. She couldn't fly at him. She couldn't glare or sneer.

Should she even be looking this shocked? Shocked was a Rapunzel emotion, so that was good. But the reason for the shock was from Blondie, and that was less good.

Before she could decide how to act, Charlie pulled him away to hold open the hotbag so he could ease two pizza boxes inside and prattle away directions to the next delivery.

Without another word, another glance, he left. And she just stood there, blinking after him.

* * *

><p>He was surely up to no good.<p>

Why on earth would he want to be an all night pizza delivery boy? Maybe he was using it as a cover for a job. Someone fancy was going to order a pizza and he'd show up, weasel his way in with his charm and good looks and wit, and then steal it - whatever it was. But then again, their delivery area didn't really cover anywhere with anything worth stealing. Not that she could tell anyway, and she stared at her map for a very long time.

Maybe he was planning on slipping contraband into the pizza boxes to cart them across town. Maybe drugs or diamonds!

Maybe Charlie had a secret fortune hidden in his office that no one knew about. She doubted that one. If he had a fortune, he would have told her.

Rider surely didn't need the sad paycheck. The profit from that ruby alone would make him rich enough to live happily in a different country where she would never have to see his dumb, handsome face again.

So, besides driving her crazy and keeping her up at night, what was he doing?

The most obvious answer was one she didn't really want to think about: he was there because she was there. He wanted to use her or hurt her or get close to her.

Her thoughts stuck on the "get close to" part and she had to shake it off and remind herself that he was a bad, bad man. Always had been. His appearance in her life like this was simply not okay.

But then, if that's what he was up to, then maybe she could do the same. She still hadn't found his hideout, and maybe she should take advantage of this new route that had magically fallen in her lap. Maybe he still had that ruby somewhere.

It didn't take much to sneak into Charlie's office the next day. Even if Charlie found her there he wouldn't have cared or even thought it was odd. The hard part was figuring out how he had organized his paperwork. It was all in a mess on his desk and overflowing out of a few of the open drawers.

It took several minutes of digging with several false alarms of footsteps or shouts from behind the door, where Rapunzel shifted away quickly and looked innocent until they passed, but eventually she found Rider's contact information, written on the back of an old, voided order form from the produce market.

His name was Eugene Fitzherbert.

She scoffed. Fitzherbert? Please.

She scribbled down a copy of his information, hid the sheet back in a random pile and hurried from the building.

His address took her to a friendly little part of the city, in the opposite direction from the area she had tracked him to for the last few months. So it really wasn't surprising when the location turned out to be a public library. She narrowed her eyes at it from across the street, then went inside to use one of the computers to sneak into the police data base.

His phone was a prepaid, disposable thing. She thought about calling it to see if he'd pick up. But then he probably used it regularly for his pizza deliveries, so he _would_ most likely answer, and then she wouldn't really have anything to say except that she had found his phone number and was prone to dialing it.

His social security number really did belong to a Eugene Fitzherbert, which filled her with rage at Rider's gall to steal someone's identity. That was just rude.

The license plate on his car checked out as well. It was registered to Eugene Fitzherbert, and had been for six years, which was odd. So he either stole Mr. Fitzherbert's car along with his identity, or he fabricated the documentation, which would have been a fair bit of work. Or maybe he'd been using this pseudonym for quite some time. The idea that he'd had use for a fake name before she started chasing him for some reason made her jealous.

He had a string of parking tickets, but no moving violations, which seemed like a good reason to take on this identity. Pizza deliverers were supposed to be safe drivers, believe it or not. But something didn't add up. He wouldn't have created this persona six years ago solely for the purpose of one day becoming a delivery boy to drive her crazy. And then it was one thing to say you had a car and a clean record, but it was another to produce the solid evidence of an ugly, old car.

The car _was_ ugly. It was boxy, and the white paint was rusting away around the edges. The back fender was held on with duct tape. He always parked it in the back alley between deliveries, and she took the opportunity one day to break in and go through his stuff.

He didn't have anything hanging from the rear view mirror, which pleased her. No fuzzy dice or tassels or little, cardboard trees. No one could give her a decent explanation for what such things did and she ended up looking weird every time she asked. After a few tries, she decided that she disliked such decorations and their incessant need to mock her.

Despite the fact that the car was clearly falling apart on the inside as well as out, he seemed to keep it relatively clean. From general neatness or from restricting the amount of evidence he left, she wasn't sure.

She scribbled down the name and phone number of his insurance agent, who was a real person but refused to give her much information when she called him later.

Rider's road atlas, although crinkled on the edges, lacked any helpful markings – no bright red X to show his apartment or his hideout, no circles around his next heist, no arrows pointing to his accomplices.

His CDs were unimpressive. With the exception of three albums that seemed to be in everyone's collection, it was all stuff she'd never heard. She picked one with an explosion of colorful swirls around the disk and a name that sounded funny, and took it with her. Listening to it that night in her apartment, she decided it was too weird and loud for her tastes.

She put it back the next day and attached a button sized tracking device under the car's bumper. Its signal led her to a pot-hole filled street, where it sat, innocently blinking at her from the torn and cratered asphalt.

She plucked it off the ground between thumb and forefinger and narrowed her eyes at it. Had it honestly just fallen off? Was it possible that he had found it and removed it? She hid it so well! With no way to know, she was left to speculate the whole idiotic situation, while the useless tracking device blinked up at her mockingly.


	3. Chapter 2:2

Rider was apparently taking his new job very seriously. So much so that he didn't make another appearance to steal something for over a week. When he did show up, it was amazingly awkward as he acted as if nothing had happened the last time they met on a rooftop, as if he wasn't hurt, and she tried to act as if she hadn't been stalking him while he worked in the building where she slept and showered and hid her secret identity. He gave up on the pearls he had tried to steal fairly quickly.

He gave up on trying to kiss her well before that.

So frustrating. Like taking eight steps backwards would cover up their one step forward. Like regressing would take her mind off it and make her forget.

His irrational behavior just further convinced Rapunzel that he was plotting something heinous. Why else would he put so much effort into being a pizza boy and so little effort into seducing her and burglarizing people?

The problem was that she could not for the life of her figure out what he was up to. And following him around to make sure he was delivering pizzas instead of something more sinister was starting to detract from her duties. He wasn't the only criminal in town. The under world did not revolve around him, no matter how much he thought it did.

And if he wasn't going to put one hundred percent into his criminal activities, she wasn't going to put a hundred percent into stopping him. If she put in more effort than he did, it meant he had won, and she would never allow that.

Maybe he was working to distract her from some larger nefarious scheme. Of course, his collaboration with someone was unusual – not unheard of, but unusual. His being the distraction while someone else carried out the heist, thus getting all the glory and possibly all the profit, was unfathomable. But it seemed the most plausible explanation and she wasn't going to spend another moment thinking about him or letting him get to her.

So Saturday night, one of the busier nights for the pizzeria, she decided to ignore Rider and hit the streets once again.

She always found it hard to find trouble. With Rider she somehow always knew where he'd go. Or at least she used to. Dealing with strangers again was a bit like starting from scratch and she spent most of the night slipping unseen through the darker, sketchier parts of town, watching and waiting for a crime to happen in front of her.

This was not the most economical process and around three o'clock she considered that maybe she was just hiding from her problems rather than working diligently to stop crime. At 3:05, she decided that she could do both simultaneously.

At five, she considered that maybe she had lost her touch. Maybe her whole job had become chasing Rider and without him she had no purpose.

This rankled her so much that she squared her shoulders and decided to give in and ask Sargent Weaver if there was anything with which she could help. Maybe it was giving up. But Rapunzel decided to look at it differently: it was brave to ask for help when you needed it, and he would probably have something big for her. Something scary and dangerous. Something where she could be a real benefit to the community rather than someone who wonders around the city at night in a funny outfit, looking a bit lost.

She wrote him a note, phrased as mysteriously and menacingly as possible (no pleases or thank yous, no doodles of turtles) and slipped it under the windshield wiper of his car just as the sun began to rise.

He lived on a cute residential street with his wife and daughter in what looked like a nice town house. It made him kind of anxious knowing that Rapunzel knew where he lived and liked leaving messages for him to find at home. But she'd been better about it recently. No notes slipped in the mail slot or written in the fog of his kitchen window. She restricted their communication to the street, thinking that would make it better, make him more comfortable.

It was just easier to get in touch with him at home, rather than at work. People gave her looks when she walked into a police station, and a few times they had tried to arrest her or interrogate her for her involvement in property damage and assault charges. Plus, she'd found that she had more free reign if she was off the books than on them.

Rapunzel was really bad at filling out paperwork. Even the most basic questions caused her anxiety. What was her name? What was her address? What was her hair color?

She hurried home, not wanting anyone to see her re-enter her building, which they surely would if the sun was out. Surely. Because people just waited around staring at her fire escape for things like this to happen.

It was a struggle to stay awake enough to wash her face, brush her teeth, and run a comb through her shortened hair, even though she felt a hundred times better once she did, like she had washed off the grime of defeat. Her pajamas welcomed her like a hug, and with that she collapsed exhausted into her bed without remembering to climb under the covers.

It couldn't have been too long before Rapunzel woke to a loud, sharp knock at the door. The noise startled her, jerking her from her sleep, but even after she realized what it was she was genuinely concerned. No one ever knocked on her door.

Once one of the diners at the pizzeria had an allergic reaction to something and Charlie had frantically knocked on her door to beg her to look after the restaurant while he dealt with the paramedics and the police. But that was it.

She took wild guesses as to who it was, each prospect more horrible than the last, until whoever it was knocked again, snapping her out of her thoughts and out of her bed.

She took just a moment to make sure her appearance was in order - pajama pants with sleepy sheep on them and hair short, brown, and disheveled. It would have to do.

Then she opened the door to find a sight more awful than she could have predicted, a sight that jerked her to full wakefulness enough to realize that all those previous guesses were a result of being half asleep. Had she really just thought there would be giant goldfish outside her door?

"Hey," Rider said, shifting his weight as his eyes swept over her night clothes then pointedly rolled to the top of her door frame. "Umm, so this is awkward." He cleared his throat then spoke slowly and clearly. "Charlie's concerned you haven't been by all week and he's worried about you, or worried that you're mad at him. So he sent me to check on you and bring you coffee as a kind of peace offering." He held out a paper cup full of coffee.

She stated at it.

After a moment, he ducked a bit to try to get a look at her face, to read her expression. He'd need a lot of luck to do so because even she wasn't really sure what she was feeling.

"It's not poisoned," he said, waving it back and forth a bit, holding it from above by its plastic lid.

That got a reaction as she sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. She fought down the urge to glare at him, and ended up closing her eyes and shaking her head to brush the feelings away like hovering flies. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you coffee, because it's morning and time to get up. See? Brewed just a half hour ago in the finest $8 coffee maker in Corona. Can you smell it? Mmm. Smells good, right?"

She stared at him blankly until he sighed, rolling his neck and shoulders. He'd been up all night too, hadn't he?

"Look, I'm just the delivery boy. If you're upset at Charlie for something, just let the man know and stop all the passive-aggressive-ness."

"Why would I be mad at him?"

"Why haven't you been by to see him? And why won't you take the coffee?"

He held the cup out again. She took it mechanically this time, which seemed to please him.

"He didn't know how you took it," he said, digging into his coat pocket and pulling out a crumpled stack of sugar packets and a few dented creamer cartons. He held the mess cupped in both hands and presented it proudly for her inspection.

"One creamer and a sugar," she said, her voice small and hollow. "The white packet."

With some juggling, he managed to pull out what she wanted and shove the rest of the pink and blue packets back into his pocket. She blinked, then hastily removed the lid from her coffee, holding it in her free hand as he opened the sugar packet and poured it in for her.

What was going on? What was he doing? Had he gone insane? Had she?

She wanted to pinch herself, but her hands were full. Maybe that was his plan. He could attack her now and she wouldn't be able to defend herself because she had to hold onto this coffee cup.

"Shit," he muttered. "I forgot a stir stick."

"That's okay." She gave the cup a swirl. She might be able to get the milk mixed, but definitely not the sugar. It didn't matter. There was no way she was drinking it. Maybe he _had_ poisoned it. Or poisoned the creamer so he wasn't really lying to her when he said the coffee was safe.

She took a deep breath, then looked up at him again, narrowing her eyes. "...Eugene? Right?"

He grinned. "You remembered. Honestly wasn't expecting that."

Of course she remembered. She'd been stalking him.

"What- Umm- Tell Charlie I've just been busy. I miss him too."

"Alright. But you know, it'd make more of an impact if you told him. What are you doing tonight?"

"What?"

"Are you busy tonight? You should stop by."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he asking if she'd be out tonight? If she said no, he could go on a full blown crime spree while she was occupied at the pizzeria. He was trying to use her personal ties against her already.

If she said yes, maybe he'd manage to meet up with her. At the moment, that didn't seem appealing.

"I don't know. I'll have to see."

"Well, just try. He won't shut up about you. It's getting kind of old."

Oh no, what had Charlie told him?

They stood for a moment in awkward silence. Before he shook himself. "Alright. See you around." Then he walked away, waving at her over his shoulder.

"...Yeah. See you."

She waited for him to disappear down the stairs before closing the door and slumping back against it.

She had to find another apartment.

* * *

><p>She went back to bed and fell into a restless sleep until Sargent Weaver called her in the late morning. He had the number to her dinky, throw away cellphone that only came with 100 minutes. She still had about 70 left.<p>

He grouched at her for coming to his house, sounding as tired as she felt, sounding like he was just going through the motions of scolding her. Had she been anyone else, he probably would have had her arrested long ago. Had she ever acted as entitled as the League of Peace, he probably wouldn't ever call her back. He would have traced her phone long ago. But as it was, they had developed an odd relationship, where he was the only one who could treat her like a child when she was in costume - slightly protective, slightly mentoring, slightly annoyed. He felt like the only parental figure she had ever really had. Maybe because he had a daughter of his own. Maybe because he acted so gruff, yet he was kind when it came down to it, and because he treated her with respect when few others thought she had much to offer. He was like Charlie, only with enough authority that she didn't feel like she could walk all over him if she wanted.

She could almost hear his mustache bristle over the phone.

"There actually is something you can look into," he said, shuffling folders around on his desk to find it. "Corblan Incorporated had their internal network hacked three days ago. It seems all that the hacker saw was shipping dates, and since nothing was stolen really, the case has been put on the back burner. But Corblan Inc. is worried and they keep calling me. Go see if you can find anything. Even if it's really nothing, it'll pacify them that someone's working on their case."

"Alright. What does Corblan Inc. do?"

"Weapons manufacturing."

"Weapons manufacturing?"

"Yep."

"... And that's been put on the back burner?"

"Welcome to the Corona Police Department!"

Rapunzel groaned. "Do you have an address? I can stop by tonight."

He read some contact information to her, which she scribbled down with a purple pen.

"No sign of Rider lately. Have you seen him?"

It was completely conversational, and it made complete sense that he would ask, but that didn't prevent her heart from stopping. Her eyes wandered across the room to where the coffee from earlier that morning sat untouched and cold next to her sink.

"No. No, I haven't seen him."

"Hrumpf. He must be planning something."

"Yeah."

"Well, good luck."

Then he hung up, leaving her and her coffee to stare at one another.

* * *

><p>An hour after nightfall, it wasn't terribly difficult to get into Corblan Inc's building. They had a security guard at the front desk, surrounded by monitors, and there were key card locks on all the doors, but that didn't stop them from having very poor security on their ventilation shafts on the roof.<p>

She dropped down into wide room of cubicles, full of flimsy padded walls and pale blue nighttime lights. No one was supposed to be working late, but with the company in as dire straights as they were possibly in, someone would surely be scrambling into the wee hours. In fact, in places like this, she expected someone was always scrambling even if there wasn't an emergency. And maybe Sargent Weaver had told someone that she was coming.

Silently, she followed the glow and hum of a half dozen computers to a cubicle about half way down the aisle. A man with furrowed eyebrows and a large nose sat staring intently at a monitor, chewing on the end of a pen. She watched him silently for a moment, taking in the pictures he had pinned to his wall of what she assumed were his wife and dog. Given the position of his cubicle, he wouldn't have a view of outside, even in the day. His fingers were like spiders, long and bony as they pattered against his keyboard. He could type without looking at the letters, which she always found impressive. It was a skill she should learn.

She took a seat cross-legged on the desk behind him. It was always fun to sneak up on people like this. They always thought she was much more intimidating if she appeared out of the dark like a ghost. It was like she could go anywhere. She was always watching. When she first realized that that was what was happening when she popped in on people, she found it a bit upsetting. She didn't want people to be afraid of her. She was there to help.

But eventually she realized that there was really no good way to start a conversation with people when she was in costume. (Although, maybe that was just her natural social ineptitude, as it happened in her normal life too, just with less drastic results.) Plus, she decided that her way of sneaking up on people was much less intimidating than the way other super heroes tended to do it. She'd heard that Glass Slipper popped up behind people and put a knife to their throat before asking questions so that people rarely saw her face.

So even if it was a little mean and intimidating, Rapunzel decided that she was okay with that. It got results and it wasn't _that_ mean. And this guy was so entranced by his computer that it would be hard not to startle him.

"Hello, Roger," she said, using the name on the plastic plaque adhered to the outside of his cubicle.

As expected, he jumped so badly that he almost toppled out of his chair before spinning around to face her, his eyes unnaturally wide, his pen falling from his mouth.

"Good Lord," he shouted, pressing one of his gangly hands to his forehead.

Yeah, surprising people was fun. She bit down a smirk.

"Word is you have a problem."

He stared at her, blinking slowly, as if unsure if he was awake, unsure if he should trust his strained eyes in the dark. "A- a problem?"

"The kind of problem where someone hacked your network and copied your shipping schedule."

"How did- Who told-"

He seemed to realize that asking those kinds of questions just gave him away, so he stopped talking and gaped at her, one hand pressed across his mouth as if to hold in the words, the other wrapped around his mid-drift as if he was about to be sick. She just cocked her head to the side and watched him for a moment until he realized that she had very impressive and high-tech and dangerous methods of getting information. He swallowed.

Again, she had to admit that this was kind of fun.

"You seem worried."

He let out a humorless, desperate laugh, then stifled it.

"What are you worried they'll take?"

"You know who they are?"

"I will once I know what they're after."

He thought on this for a moment, before setting his jaw. "That's classified."

She shrugged, a more girlish gesture than she intended it to be. "Can't help you unless you help me."

His eyes narrowed, his mouth contorting into a frown. "How do I know you're not working with them?"

Then it was her turn to laugh, and again it came out a bit too girlish, not callous enough, a bit too light and ringing. "Come on, Roger. What are they after and when's it coming in?"

He blinked a bit more, trying to stitch together the dueling impressions that she was both threatening and adorable. Eventually he either decided to trust her or decided that she was a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and over abundance of stress. He spun slowly in his office chair, clearly uncomfortable turning his back on her, and she hopped up to peer over his shoulder at the shipping schedule he brought up on his computer.

"As you can see, we get shipments all the time," he said, scrolling through the spread sheet, his tone businesslike and slightly annoyed (people tended to get that way when their stuff was about to be stolen.) "If any of them were taken it would be a loss." The way he emphasized "loss" made it clear there would be more at stake than his company's monetary suffering. "But the item that's greatly concerning..." his scrolling came to a stop, and he highlighted an item, looking slightly pleased with himself for having information she didn't or for being able to help or because he could prove and have someone else appreciate that his fears were justified. "This. Arrives in the Corona port tomorrow night."

The line had the date, time, and what she assumed was the ship name and dock number, then the phrase _5469.2 Trid-D4_.

She stared at it, thinking it might make sense after a moment, but it didn't.

"What is that?"

"That is the Trident Project."

"Trident Project?"

He nodded, looking up at her with the blue light of his monitor reflected in his eyes, making his skin look sallow and drawn. "A sizable amount of Plutonium."

* * *

><p>With the date, time, location and a horrible idea of what was at stake, Rapunzel made her way home, so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realize where she was until she was half way through washing her face to get ready for bed. Then she had an even more depressing thought: it was still early and she should drop by the pizzeria.<p>

Ick.

On the one hand, she did no want to see Rider and his stupid face and his stupid glasses. She didn't want to deal with all the confusion and uncomfortableness that dealing with him lately involved. And on the other hand, she was frustrated that Charlie could actually think she was mad at him, and couldn't realize that he had invited an annoying, manipulative, infuriating, good smelling criminal to work for him.

There really wasn't an upside to going down there. She should just let Charlie feel bad. She _was_ mad at him. He was being stupid and putting them all in danger. Let him stew and keep trying to send her things to make up for it. Maybe next time he'd send cheesy bread.

So, of course, Rapunzel put on real clothes and wandered down to the kitchen. She growled at herself quietly as she did so.

At least Rider wouldn't be seeing her in her jammies. Maybe he would be out and she wouldn't see him at all. That idea filled her with a mix of buoyant, heartwarming excitement and unexplainable disappointment.

"Hey Charlie."

He turned from his dough to blink at her over his shoulder. He went back to it as she circled the counter to look him in the face. "Oh hey, girlie. Haven't seen you in a while. Been busy?"

It always confused her how people tried (but then again, didn't really try) to hide the hurt and anger in their voices and pretended like nothing was wrong when it was. If they were upset, why didn't they say something instead of pretending everything was alright? How was she supposed to know if they didn't tell her? She was just supposed to guess?

That's what she was expecting from Charlie. He'd done it to her before. But this time there wasn't a trace. His question was just a question, not an accusation. His interest in his dough rather than her face meant that he was busy too, not that he was giving her the cold shoulder.

Odd. Maybe she'd misinterpreted. That happened pretty often.

"Yeah. Busy," she said.

"Had to throw out the old pastries last night," he grinned, then reached for a paper plate on the other counter and handed it to her. "Good thing you're back. I don't like food to go to waste."

She took the plate, giving him a skeptical look that he didn't seem to notice. If he wasn't missing her then...

Then Rider was lying. Which was not at all surprising really. Just confusing.

She took a seat on the sofa to watch television, holding her plate underneath with one hand so it wouldn't flop open and spill all her pastry. It was overly delicious, and she realized that she hadn't eaten since lunch, when she rolled out of bed to talk to Sargent Weaver and had a bowl of cereal.

Tonight's infomercial was for a marker where you could draw on stains and they would magically disappear. They made cleaning so easy! And kids could use them too! If she called now, they'd throw in two more markers absolutely free! That always made her wonder. If they could just double or triple your order without charging you more, they either had way too many markers lying around or they should drastically cut the price they were selling them for.

If she had a marker like that, she would draw a mural in the stair well where there was all that water damage. Or on the grungy brick wall in the back alley. Did the markers work outdoors, or just in the kitchen? After a few more minutes and another cannolo, the program informed her that they did, indeed work outdoors! Especially on patio furniture. Except for park benches, it had never really occurred to her that you could put furniture outside. These people had a whole dinning room set that they had left in their backyard and then failed to keep clean.

How fun. She should convince Charlie to let her move the sofa outside one day and sit in the sun.

The door to the back alley opened and closed behind her and her shoulders tensed immediately. She wasn't going to turn around to look at him. Or acknowledge him. Maybe he'd go away.

She listened intently as he shed his jacket and groaned, probably stretching so his shirt rose a bit to show off a sliver of abs.

"Is this coffee fresh?" he asked.

"Meh," Charlie said.

After more shuffling, she heard his footsteps approach and she hunched further over her paper plate, hiding herself or protecting her food, it was hard to tell. She wasn't sharing with him.

Instead of walking around the sofa like a normal person, he clamored over the back to flop down next to her, a maneuver made awkward by the fact that he was holding a mug of coffee in each hand. Then, instead of greeting her like a normal person, he held out one of the mugs for her, his attention focused on the television and said, "Oh! This one! Have they showed how it cleans up dried blood yet? That's my favorite part."

Her head snapped up to stare at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, fingers clenching around the coffee mug. "_What?_"

He shrugged, reaching over to snag a cannolo off her plate. She would have scowled at him, but she was too distracted. "It's funny."

"You... You've seen this one before?"

"Yeah. It was on... night before last? Then a few nights before that too."

She blinked at him. "And you have a favorite part?"

"Yeah, when they remove that bloodstain," he repeated. "Like I said, it's funny."

"Getting out bloodstains is funny? Do you have to get out bloodstains often?" That was a stupid question. He definitely did, and asking was a mistake.

Or maybe he didn't know how to clean things properly and he just threw out his ruined shirts instead of trying to mend them. Now that she'd thought of that possibility, she was suddenly curious about his answer.

"Nah," he said dismissively, swallowing down a bite of pastry. "It's funny because it's this commercial about this overly happy family that live in the suburbs. They've got two children whose only imperfection is that they sometimes spill juice. They've got a dog that makes them laugh even when it tracks in mud because it's still the best dog ever. They've got a nice car and a nice house that only have average wear and tear and aren't falling apart into a big dilapidated pile with a broken water heater and doors that don't shut. Super perfect lives, right? Everything's peachy. Nothing can bring them down, and you kinda hate them for it.

"Oh look, and now they've got this big blood stain on the patio from the body that they already cleaned up. That clean up was easy. Maybe the dog helped. But _that blood stai_n, that's gonna be a bitch to get out! See what I'm sayin'? It comes out of nowhere! And it's treated like it's no big deal. And now I have all these questions. Like why did this family kill a guy on the patio? Which one of them did it? I hope it was the little girl. With the pig tails. And why isn't scrubbing at the stain ruining the mom's mood? Is she on drugs? Is she a psychopath? These are very serious questions and I watch this hoping I'll get answers, but I never do."

He popped the rest of the connolo in his mouth, shaking his head. "It's disappointing."

She stared at him, not quite able to get her mind around it.

It was just so much like something she'd do.

He watched infomercials. Like she did. And he would watch them repeatedly and remembered them. Like she did. And he had a favorite part. She'd never admitted to anyone that she had favorite parts. It felt just a bit too weird, and she was always trying to lock the weird part of herself down.

And, yeah it was a little gruesome that his favorite part involved gore, but she always analyzed these too, coming up with elaborate back stories to make the people's responses and actions make sense. She did it because it always bothered her when the characters (if you could really call them that) acted unexpectedly. She was new at interacting with others and watching people behave, and when they did some of the exceptionally strange things they did on late night television, she had to work to have it make sense.

One commercial asked, "Are you tired of pens that rip apart your important documents?" Then it showed black and white footage of a man making a single stroke with his pen, pressing too hard, and tearing his paper. He then became overly angry, throwing his pen onto the desk and slamming a fist down in frustration. But why? What other awful things had happened that day that his paper tearing made him snap? Why didn't he just press more lightly or get another sheet of paper and start again?

Watching incidents like that could leave Rapunzel disturbed for hours.

She paid attention as a study in human behavior in order to help with her own slow integration into society. Rider apparently watched them because they were funny.

Not knowing what to say, she took a sip of her coffee.

It had the right amount of cream.

It had the right amount of sugar.

A creeping tingle spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the warm coffee running through her system. He'd remembered. He'd remembered and made it for her without her asking.

She felt so melty that she couldn't even focus on her suspicion that he was carefully developing a list of A Thousand Personal Things About Rapunzel: what television she watched, how she took her coffee, what pajamas she wore, where she lived, what hours she kept, all her trust issues and weaknesses.

He turned to look at her, a sheepish smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I know. Weird, right?"

Her gaze dropped to her coffee so he might not see the way her cheeks flushed when he looked at her like that. But looking at the coffee made her feel kind of funny too.

"Not that weird."

After a moment's hesitation, she straightened slightly from her position curled around her floppy paper plate of food. Carefully she wedged her mug between her knees, then used both hands to support the plate, holding it out to share.

* * *

><p>She woke not knowing where she was, her vision blurred, her body warm, the television mumbling in the background. She shifted a bit, sinking back into her comfy position in an attempt to fall directly back into sleep.<p>

Then she froze.

She was snuggled between the sofa back and Eugene, her head on his shoulder, her arm limp against his chest. Her legs were curled up the way she always slept, folded over and around his legs as if she had fallen asleep in his lap before they slipped down in the night. His legs were bent as he didn't quite fit on the sofa if he stretched out, his arms draped lazily around her, his cheek pressed to the crown of her head.

Oh no.

How had she gotten into this mess? How had she managed to fall asleep in the same building as him, much less while sitting next to him on a sofa? Her guard should never have been lowered that much. She should have never been this comfortable around him, never this relaxed. He could have murdered her in her sleep!

And how had she ended up cuddling him? She sincerely hoped that he had moved her into this position after she dozed off. That would make him disgustingly creepy. That would mean she hadn't reached for him unconsciously like a pathetic sap. That would mean she wouldn't have to die from embarrassment.

Maybe he'd made her laugh a few times as he made comments about the announcer's voice and choice of words. And maybe she'd striven to make him laugh too, because she liked the way his eyes sparkled when he was happy. She liked the way he'd lean closer to her and whisper something as if it were a secret, the way they seemed to share something, the way they felt like partners in an exceptionally minor conspiracy, the way he smelled, and the way his hair fell into his eyes. But even if all that had happened (which it shouldn't have if she'd been using her brain) that was still no excuse for getting cozy.

She tried to shift away, but his arms were dead weight across her back. His breath came evenly, deeply, her hand and her cheek rising slightly with his every inhale. For some reason (and she told herself it was the moment of terrified indecision before flight or fight) her every muscle tensed and she couldn't bring herself to move. She couldn't scream and push him away or carefully slip free.

That might wake him and he was so peaceful.

No.

No no no.

She might wake him and then he would realize what had happened and he'd be amazingly embarrassed as well.

Maybe he'd blush. That would be adorable.

_No_. If he woke up he would gloat and _she_ would be embarrassed and that would be horrible because she'd never live it down. Yes. That was it.

She suddenly very much wanted to look at his face. To see him relaxed without the clench of his jaw, to see his eyelids flicker as he dreamed.

No. She wanted to check if he was really asleep. That almost made sense. She'd go with that one.

This time when she tried to move he grumbled a little, a sound that she felt in his chest more than heard, and shifted slightly, nuzzling his face deeper into her hair.

Crap.

A rustling noise from across the room caught her attention, and she looked up to see Charlie. Staring at her. Beaming.

Maybe she _would_ die of embarrassment.

She felt her face heat to the point where she was sure it would wake Eugene, and her lips parted to form some kind of explanation or defense that died in a croak in the back of her throat. What could she possibly say?

But Charlie just grinned at her, holding up a hand, not – she realized – to cut off her protest, but to signal that there was no need to get up, then wiped his hands on his apron and strolled off to the back of the kitchen. He face only heated further.

So she waited, her body so tense she nearly gave herself a headache, easing herself free a smidgin at a time, and after what felt like hours of close calls and painfully held breaths, she freed herself and disappeared as quickly as she could up the stairs.

* * *

><p>She slipped into the docks just after sunset, climbing to the top of a stack of crates and leaping the chain-link fence without rattling it too much. She landed on the ground in a crouch, the smell of salt and damp rope, of slowly rotting wood and sweat washing over her, pushing her down. The air was thick and humid, making it hard to move, hard to breathe through the dampness. She was swimming through the darkness as if it were a tangible thing.<p>

She darted down the docks, slipping between shadows and hiding behind crates and large spools of heavy rope. Her footsteps sounded fuzzy and distant, yet at the same time harder to soften. Much as she tried, it was hard to stay silent, hard to control the creak of the thick, warping planking.

She took solace that she could make herself nearly invisible. Her pride in that skill only grew with time.

The docks were huge, a complex system that sprawled like the roots of a tree. The docks were the heart of Corona, living and breathing even in darkness, working despite the conditions and the hour. Workers strode past her in the fog, barking orders to one another, laughing, grunting. They were hard to see, and hard to hear over the low rumble of ship engines and machinery, over the roll and wash of the tide. Their voices rose out of the ocean far too close to her and she would pause and duck, holding her breath as they passed then disappeared once more. They threw lines to the great, dark ships that loomed overhead - lines that whipped out like loops of her hair, snapping in front of her and bringing her progress to abrupt halts before they finished and moved on. She could see forklifts move in the dark, silhouettes with blinking red lights and rhythmic beeps as they growled along. They felt more like dangerous, robotic sentinels than the workings of men going about their daily business.

Despite their nearness, none of the workers noticed her. They were too involved in their own work or unused to scanning for small, blonde super heroes who snuck around in the dead of night.

The ship she wanted had not yet docked in its spot, and she had to wait in the shadow of one of the little control buildings for the ship to come in. Such elaborate and grand actions fascinated her as a rule, and since she was well hidden and the trident was still safe in the hull of the bulking ship, she might as well sit back and watch.

The ship moved slowly, much more slowly than she would have expected, but she wasn't sure why she would think that. Its form steadily grew nearer and darker as it maneuvered into position, and eventually she could see it as a wall of metal rising out of the sea to a deck several stories over her head. She couldn't tell the color of the ship, but she imagined it was a light, pastel green, because that was always a nice color.

It rocked into place and the first of the ropes were thrown down, and the ship's name became clear for the first time, tall, white letters in a crisp font.

Pleased that she was in the right place, she waited for the engines to shift into a softer roar and for the dock to clear slightly before she sprung from her hiding spot, checked the tension of the rope tied to the nearest cleat, then ran up it. The rope was thick as her leg and it was not difficult to balance on it as long as she threw out her arms and kept moving as quickly as she could. Even then it was slippery in places and it undulated ever so slightly beneath her feet.

The rope brought her to about half way up the side of the ship, where she dropped into a crouch to steady herself with one hand. She threw out a rope of hair to whip around a beam on the deck. Then she swung out and hoisted herself up.

Her hair was really not behaving well in the humidity.

Landing lightly on the deck, she dropped once more into the shadows, listening for signs she'd been spotted and checking for a clue as to her next destination. Below deck probably, and to do that she'd have to cross a span of barren deck, then go in through one of the hatches and down through the maze of corridors where people were sure to see her and she would have nowhere to hide.

She narrowed her eyes at the deck hands, who scurried about in efficient chaos. There really wasn't much hope but to go for it, stay low and to the shadows and pray they were all too busy.

She took a deep breath and bolted, skittering along the deck and staying as close to the edges as she could. She gasped and froze, pressed to the side of the railing as someone shouted, but a moment later it was clear that their attention was not directed at her. So she hurried on, ducking across a wide expanse of deck, empty except for the fog. Then she flattened her back against the hatch leading to the lower decks, lifting her chin and calming her beating heart.

As she reached for the door, it clanged, then opened as three men stomped out. She had to adjust course, swerving to move with the door as it opened, to hide behind it unseen as they left. They let the hatch fall closed behind them without noticing her, and she grabbed it to stop it from closing all the way, slipping inside before they were even out of ear shot.

Inside the ship was lit by yellow lights from above, making it easier to navigate, but also easier for someone to see her. It was less damp, but still hot, somehow more oppressive in the tight confines. Funny, she'd thought it would be cool inside, surrounded by metal. Instead it smelled like unwashed deckhands living and working in close proximity.

She moved as swiftly as she could, wishing her feet didn't clank as much as she ran, even though they actually made very little sound at all. She hurried off the main thoroughfare, into areas that were more poorly lit and seemed less traveled, less lived in. She slipped down ladders wherever she could, following infrequent signs placed at odd intervals. Cargo Bay 1-A to the left. Cargo Bay 4-C to the right. It never occurred to her that there would be more than one cargo bay.

The first one she came to was 2-A, and she happened upon it suddenly, finding herself standing on a catwalk that stretched over the cavernous room. It was filled with large, metal shipping crates, stacked three high and spaced evenly through the room below her. On the far side of the room was a little office. It had a different, more intense light than the rest of the cargo bay, and she could see the man sitting there, reclining back in his chair. She could faintly hear the sound of a television.

She slipped forward, trying to determine if he was a security guard and if so if he was armed, trying to determine if he would know where the trident was. With a detailed inspection, getting so close that it was shocking he didn't notice her, she could just make out a stack of papers attached to a clipboard on his desk that looked like some sort of inventory.

Seemed a good start.

Reaching into a compartment on her belt, she pulled out a zip-lock bag full of yogurt covered crasins. They'd been in the bag a while, and were a little stale. She popped one in her mouth anyway. A little stale, but still good. Taking careful aim and staying carefully out of sight in the shadows on the catwalk, she threw one at the yellowing plexiglass widow of the office, striking it with a happy _plunk_.

The security guard's head snapped up, staring at the window as if whatever hit it would do so again. Rapunzel held her breath, then threw a handful of craisins into the dark of the cargo bay. They rained down on the metal crates with enough noise to send the security guard scurrying out of his chair.

His flashlight fizzled to life, not shedding much light over the scene at all, mostly just causing dark shadows to loom out from behind crates.

"Hello?"

He was answered by another handful of craisins rattling deep within the cargo hold, and he set out in a hurry to investigate.

Rapunzel dropped softly to the ground, grabbed the itinerary and scanned it quickly, ducking down behind the man's desk so as not to be seen through the window. She found it on page four, cargo hold 3-B, crate number 51076. The number 51076 was like 226 squared. She could remember that.

She slipped the clipboard back into place and inspected a map tacked to a bulletin board along with pictures of women in swim suits and a banner for the West Corona Fighting Tunas. Then she was back outside, hauling herself back onto the catwalk before the confused security guard could return.

With the help of the map – was it called a map if it was of a ship? It seemed like ships had different names for everything. Maybe a schematic? - she found 3-B, which looked remarkably similar to 2-A, complete with darkened catwalk to allow for easy sneaking. Crate 51076 was more difficult to find because the crates weren't arranged in any sort of order that she could make out. Maybe it was really complex. She wished she had more time to study the pattern.

But as it was, she just had to search, happy when the numbers were written large and clear, slightly annoyed when they were obscured by rust or grime or stacked in such a way as to block the numbers.

It took far too long to find it. She could already hear the dock workers moving crates from other cargo bays, shouting at one another, and spurring their forklifts to roar and beep. That was fine, she supposed. If they got the crate shipped off before anyone popped up to steal it, she wouldn't really have to do anything, just follow it until it reached Corblan Inc. and then go home. The problem would be if the bad guys found it before she did.

As it was, the crate looked as though it hadn't been touched. It looked innocuous, no different from the crates it was wedged between. It made her wonder if the other crates had radioactive material in them as well. Maybe they were full of poisonous snakes, or canned Ebola, or stacks and stacks of swords! Maybe they were full of down pillows or rubber bath ducks that had no idea they were so close to such danger. It was all very exciting and mysterious, and made her want to open all the crates to see what was inside.

She restrained herself, settling on the catwalk to keep watch.

Slowly, the sounds of movement drew closer, louder. She considered moving when the workers got to her shipping bay so she wouldn't be seen, but then she remembered how Flynn had dressed like a security guard and she changed her mind. What was to stop someone from dressing like a dock worker and coming in to take the trident? They could waltz right in and waltz right out.

Then she was distracted by thinking about what other professions Flynn could impersonate. She was still kind of hoping for pediatrician. He could even keep his silly glasses on for that one. She wouldn't mind as long as he wore the lab coat too.

"Hey! What-" The shot cut off with a thud and a gurgle.

Rapunzel jumped to her feet, leaning over the catwalk railing for a view of the security guard station, where two men in black hoodies and ski masks were dragging the security guard's unconscious body into the office, shoving him under his desk. Rapunzel ducked, her eyes wide, her breath coming faster.

"Hurry up," one of them grunted, his voice carrying through the bay, dampened but echoing, making the words sound muddy.

"Shit. It'll take a week to find this damned thing."

Their flashlights swept back and forth and Rapunzel held very still.

One of them slapped the other's arm. "Split up." And they separated in opposite directions. Seeing as the crate was near the middle, she would have some time. Five minutes? Ten? How long had it taken her?

She dropped to the floor and scurried to the crate, pulling a lock picking set from her belt and dislodging it from a braided friendship bracelet in purple and yellow. Her hands shook a bit in excitement and fear, but after a minute the lock opened with a clunck, nearly falling to the ground before she caught it with a flail.

She slipped inside the crate, to find it mostly empty, just a smaller, wooden crate inside, held in place by cables attached to the walls, like it had been caught in a spider web. The box was sealed shut with industrial staples, that came out easy enough with some leverage from her pen knife and several creaking snaps the rang through the metal compartment.

She pried three boards off the top, then reached into the the sawdust and crinkled paper to pull out a metal cylinder she could hold in both hands. It had a strap that allowed for easy transport attached to her back. It was heavier than she expected, but smaller at the same time. Given such a large crate and such a big fuss, she expected something bigger.

It didn't even glow. Weren't radioactive things supposed to glow?

She shoved the boards she'd removed back in the box, then slipped out of the compartment, feeling her time running short. She secured the lock back into place and slipped back up to the catwalk to see the nearest hooligan only one row away.

She chose silence over speed as she retreated from the catwalk, leaving the men to either steal an empty crate, or find the trident missing and throw a fit without an audience. She didn't really care what their reaction was and she wasn't going to stick around for a fight.

The winding corridors of the ship were easier to navigate given that the many of the cargo bays had been opened to allow for easier removal of their wares. She slipped into a nearly empty bay, then climbed easily through the opened ceiling. The dark of night and the fog obscured her once more, even as cranes moved overhead and workers paced nearby.

Now it was just a matter of escaping the docks and delivering the trident to Corblan Inc downtown. Shouldn't be a long walk.

As she used a loop of her hair to zip-line down one of the ropes holding the ship to the dock, she wondered if they would be surprised to see her. She hoped so. That would be fun. Probably not as much fun as when it was Flynn who she surprised, but still fun.

She jogged down the dock, still sticking to the shadows, but much less intent on being sneaky now that she was making her escape. If they saw her, she could just run for it.

The dock below her creaked under her feet, and for a moment she attributed it to her hurried footsteps and tried to move more lightly.

Then there was a snap.

Then wooden dock ahead of her buckled and erupted, and she threw herself to the side to duck behind a spool of rope as splinters exploded into the night. The dock continued to creak, rocking beneath her, threatening to topple the whole section into the sea, and she hurried from her hiding spot to back up, to get away.

Three tentacles, thicker than her torso and two stories tall waved from the gaping hole in the dock, writhing, swinging back and forth as if searching for her, trying blindly to grab her. She ducked as one swung past her head then scurried back, out of reach.

A few more wild swings, and the tentacles retreated, closing together and reaching for the sky in a great spire before twirling down again into the water. Rapunzel held very still, trying to control her breath. The monster might not be able to find her if she didn't move.

Part of the dock collapsed and fell away, leaving a jagged hole she couldn't hope to cross. She was trapped, as were all the dock workers behind her. The lights from the city flickered through the fog, calling her to try to jump the chasm before the monster came back, to make a run for it.

But the dock exploded again, from the side this time, four black tentacles bursting from the water with a crash and a spray, flailing to find her, wrapping around what remained of the dock and rocking it violently. She couldn't keep her feet and fell to the ground, clutching at the warped wood. A tentacle swept towards her, dragging across the ground, and she rolled to avoid it, tumbling from the side of the dock, grabbing hold of the edge at the last moment.

Catching herself so suddenly caused her shoulder to snap unpleasantly, sending a burn up her arm, through her chest. The trident bounced against her back, and she held on as a wave from the monster's splashing struck her with full force. She blew burning salt water from her nose. Her now sodden hair felt as though it were dragging her down.

Then it was dragging her down, wrapped up in a tentacle that pulled at her, prying her loose as her fingernails dug into the dock. The strands of her hair tangled unevenly in the suction cups, making it snag and smell like fish. Wet and snarled, it clung to the tentacle and Rapunzel feared that if she managed to get free, her hair might not come with her.

All she could do as she was lifted into the air was clutch at her hair to try to give herself some slack, so it wouldn't rip from her scalp, snapping her neck. Her foe seemed to find her struggles amusing, and a slow laugh rolled down a tentacle, through Rapunzel's hair, into her bones.

"And what do we have here?" The words were velvety, deep, half a coo and half the push of a wave as the monster settled in the water, crossing her arms across her chest as she held Rapunzel up for inspection. "Trying to steal the trident before me? How clever."

She gave Rapunzel a shake, causing her to squeak as she was flung about like a rag doll.

"Aren't you a little..." the monster leaned forward to emphasize her words, "out of your league?"

Rapunzel kicked out at the tentacle holding her, hitting it soundly, her foot sinking into the squishy flesh. "Give up now, Ursula. I'll go easy on you."

Maybe it wasn't the most intimidating thing she'd ever said, especially given their size difference and her current, helpless vulnerability. But she was used to being the underdog. She was used to her enemies underestimating her. And as long as she didn't _feel_ helpless, she wouldn't be.

The sea monster laughed, clapping a hand to her cheek and rolling on the dock to look at Rapunzel from a prone position on her back. "Oh, that is too precious." She laughed harder bouncing her prey carelessly through the air.

Rapunzel aimed another kick, this one causing the tentacle to flinch, only to have another rise up easily, wrapping tightly around her torso. She couldn't use her arms or legs, but it took the strain off her hair.

"I'll tell you what," Ursula said, pouting her lips to bring out a dimple in her cheek. "You give me the trident, and I'll let you run along home."

"No."

"You sure? You could get a good night's sleep. You could be dry. You could go about your little business. Come join in with the big girls again when you're good and ready."

"You can't have it."

Ursula glared. Her voice dropped to a snarl. "I said, give it to me."

"No!"

The tentacle shook her, quick, nasty shakes that made her brain rattle and her vision blur.

Ursula's face swam in front of her as the tentacle began to squeeze, bit by bit, pressing her elbows to her ribs until she thought they might snap, forcing the air from her lungs and pressing agonizingly into her belly and thigh. Sticky suction cups bit into the side of her face. "Be a good girl."

A second tentacle approached, holding out the very tip like a hand waiting to receive the trident.

She couldn't hand it over even if she wanted to. The canister was pressed painfully against her spine.

It was hard to find breath to answer, and she gasped. Fuzzy, colored spots popped before her eyes. "I..."

Then she hit the water, dumped in without time to hold her breath. The surface slapped against her face, the salt and nasty foam of the port stinging her eyes. The force of the water threatened to crush her just as much as the tentacle.

She surfaced gasping and spluttering, her hair plastered to the side of her face, her extremities numb and her vision unfocused. The undulation of the ocean amplified by the movement of the tentacle was all it took for her to slump into a momentary blackout.

She fell to what was left of the dock in a heap, landing hard on her shoulder, the trident thumping against the ground, against her back. It took far too much effort to raise her head, then more than she thought she had in her to push herself unsteadily to her feet.

Ursula looked unimpressed, her tentacles waving around her slowly, almost independently, like dandelions in the wind.

Rapunzel slowly took hold of her hair.

When the first blow came, she was ready for it, ducking into a roll and lassoing it as it whipped by, bracing herself against one of the now exposed pier beams, looping her hair to catch around the beam and dampen some of the strain when the tentacle caught. It was slightly effective, causing the beam to snap and Rapunzel to cry out as she was jerked forward, but she survived. And she was ready for the next tentacle that slapped down at her from above, dodging it and the splintering dock, leaping over it, entrapping it in heavy hair. The third sailed over her head and the forth was blocked as she yanked her hair with all her strength, causing the ensnared tentacles to catch the blow.

And then they were in a mess, her hair and half of Ursula's tentacles knotted together. For a moment the monster just looked disgusted.

Then she was hit in the face by a handful of flying craisins.

Ursula jerked back, an indignant noise bursting from her lips.

And her look of anger and confusion changed to shock when the shifting of her weight caused the dock to collapse beneath her. She began to topple, falling backwards off the dock and into the sea, unable to stop herself from falling with her tentacles bound together. They slapped uselessly at the dock, at the ships around them, at Rapunzel, trying to find purchase, trying to halt her slide into the sea.

And as the monster was engulfed once more by the surf, Rapunzel frantically sawed at her hair with her pen knife, ripping through it in clumps, gasping and crying and trying to brace herself before she followed into the churning water. The nearest tentacle flailed, grabbed a pier beam and held firm, and she had a moment more to saw through the last of her hair before the beam gave way and the whole dock crashed into the water.

The water bubbled and swirled, taking several long moments to settle once again into a black mass of rolling waves. With the battle over, shouts could be heard, sirens wailing and growing louder. Overhead, a helicopter rattled by, a searchlight scanning the gap in the pier without a sign of Ursula or Rapunzel.

* * *

><p>Sargent Weaver inspected the damage, kneeling to look down into the wreckage. Dinghies arranged to ferry the workers from the damaged pier back to the main port passed nearby, their occupants craning their necks to get a look at the battle ground. The red and blue flashes of police lights lit up the receding fog, as another part of the dock fell loose, splashing into the water.<p>

Even the chaos felt somehow subdued.

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, feeling far too old, and far too tired.

He really hadn't excepted this when he put the girl on the case. He thought it'd turn out to be nothing, or she would handle it as she'd handled just about everything else.

He rubbed his forehead. At least they'd probably find her body when they trolled the water for the Plutonium.

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and headed back to his car, ready to go home and do the paperwork tomorrow. This one was going to be a ton of paperwork.

He stopped when he opened the car door, staring down at the radioactive canister and the ever growing puddle that had been left in his seat for him to find.

He sighed again. Way too old.

* * *

><p>Eugene's face fell from his cheery morning grin to a look of horror as soon as Rapunzel opened the door. It took her several blurry moments to remember that there was a reason for his stare.<p>

"What happened?"

Her hand jumped to her hair, then to her mid-drift, relieved to find she had in fact made it into her pajamas.

He shifted the coffee he held in one hand into the crook of his elbow, and with the utmost concern, reached for her face, tilting her chin so he could inspect what must be a spectacular bruise on her cheek. His inspection was rather more detailed than she would have liked, and she swallowed, trying and failing to look away from the way his concern changed to rage, the way the muscles in his jaw tightened.

"Who did this?"

"It's nothing."

He blinked at her like she was crazy, his gaze slipping from her cheek to her eyes.

"Have you even cleaned it?"

Probably not. She couldn't remember and if he was asking about it, it most likely looked pretty bad.

He rolled his eyes and let go of her chin only to take her by the shoulder and guide her inside.

Her eyes widened in fear that outweighed her exhaustion and a protest caught in her throat. Rider was in her apartment! He couldn't be in her apartment! Standing outside it was bad enough. This was just unacceptable.

To her surprise, he didn't pause to look around, to case the place or comment on the color of her bedspread. Maybe he was just being sneaky. He didn't need much time to take in a room.

He pushed her straight into the bathroom, carelessly balanced her coffee on the edge of the sink, and sat her on the edge of the bathtub before grabbing her washcloth and running it under warm water.

For a moment she was hypnotized by the deft way his hands moved, and the determined look on his face as he knelt in front of her and as gently as possible dabbed at her cheek. She cringed, the painful resurgence of a dull throb lighting up the side of her face and shooting down her spine, down her throat. He muttered an apology he didn't mean and refused to stop.

The pain mixed with anticipation as his fingers brushed her skin, and suddenly she was on her feet.

"I can wash my face myself."

Maybe her voice was a bit too frantic, but he gave her an irritated look and stepped aside anyway.

On second thought, turning her back on him was probably not the best idea, but she had to get away from him and there wasn't much room to hide in the bathroom. Besides, every time she glanced at him in the mirror, his entire focus was directed at her. Or it seemed that way.

She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Her bruise was pretty bad, a deep purple from the side of her nose, up her cheek bone to her temple, just missing her eye. She could see the scrapes where the edge of her mask had cut into her skin. Between watery scrubs, she checked to see if the shape of the cuts was too obviously like the shape of her mask. Drying her face, she decided they weren't.

Then Eugene was back in her personal space again, digging through the small pharmacy that was her medicine cabinet. Half an indignant protest and a syllable of a lying explanation slipped from her lips before he grabbed a bottle of aspirin and handed her a pill. She swallowed it dry without protest, realizing that he probably had a similar stock of drugs, and this was one of those things they were just going to pretend they didn't notice.

He washed his hands and plucked up some band-aids and a tube of antiseptic. He went after her face again, rubbing glops of medicine onto her cuts as if he didn't trust her to do it properly herself. It still twinged terribly, and she wasn't sure if it was just from someone else touching a fresh bruise, or if it was because _he_ was touching her and churning up all the vulnerability in her stomach, both thrilling and terrifying her.

"Do you have ice you can put on this?"

"No." Did it look like she had a freezer? Had he really not noticed that or was it a nicety to ask? Or was he pretending that he hadn't already filed away every last detail of his surroundings?

"I'll get you some from downstairs," he said absently, peeling open a band-aid and plastering it neatly and tightly to her cheek over one of the more brutal cuts.

He stood back a bit to inspect his work, but seemed unsatisfied. "And you're not going to tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened."

"If bruises like that are just popping up, you probably have some kind of serious medical condition."

"I'll look into it."

"Do you have more?"

"What?"

His eyes scanned over her form, over her arms, down her legs and chest as if he could see through her pajamas, as if he was undressing her with his eyes to look for further injury rather than desirable girl parts.

Annoying on so many levels.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted, doing a quick, mental check. Her side felt stiff and twinging too. And her arms hurt. Was there one on her leg too? Shifting her weight again, she decided that that one didn't feel as bad.

Eugene sighed. "Let's see it."

"See what?"

He gave her blank look.

"Who invited you in here, anyway?"

"No one. Now let me see it."

"Why do you want to see my bruises? That's weird."

"Are you gonna show me, or do I have to go looking?"

"You wouldn't!"

He opened his mouth to argue further, only to snap it shut again because she was absolutely right. Eugene would never go looking. Stripping off her clothes to prove some point was pure Rider, and he was slipping way too far into that personality already.

If she was honest with herself, she was slipping too.

He exhaled, the tension slipping from his face to be replaced with fatigue and concern. He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I just want to help. Let me help?"

She shifted again, looking anywhere but his face. "I don't think there's much you can really do."

He laughed, something hollow and breathy. "Humor me."

She bit her lip in internal debate, then hesitantly lifted the hem on her sweatshirt enough to show the bruise across her ribs. A regular pattern of round, darker bruises marked the spots where the suckers had bit into her skin. Stupid, obvious tentacle bruise.

Eugene bent to look at it, one hand resting lightly, temptingly on her hip to hold her still, his eyes scrutinizing her wound with a professionalism that she both appreciated and despised. She hoped somewhere in his brain he noticed the adorableness of her belly button.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, something that sounded like disapproval and resignation as he straightened and let her sweatshirt slip back into place.

She blinked at him, waiting a bit anxiously for his assessment. "Well? How does it look?"

"Pretty gross."

"What?" She looked down to check it again, pulling her sweatshirt back up and running her fingers carefully over her ribs. Yeah, it _was_ pretty gross, but he didn't have to _say_ it.

He laughed, a real laugh this time. "I think you need two bags of ice."

"Well, thank you, Eugene, for that professional opinion!"

"Hey, I never claimed to be an expert on big, mysterious bruises." He smiled, shifting closer, his hand had returning to her hip. "Now tell me who did it and I can beat them senseless for you."

She scoffed. "No, you won't."

"No, I guess not. I'd send them a poisoned pizza. That's just as good, right?"

"How is that helpful?"

"Teach them a lesson? Make me feel better?"

"I think I'm the one that needs to feel better."

"Ah. Of course. Sorry." He was very near now, and she recognized the moment when their proximity dawned on him as well, the moment when he decided not to pull away. He drew closer, leaning in, the warmth of his hands and the smell of him and the rolling sound of his voice washing over her.

Usually, at this point her eyelids would grow heavy and her lips would part and she would shove him against the nearest wall and bite him. But the nearest wall was where she hung her fluffy, blue towel, and he was wearing _glasses_ and looking like he _cared_, and instead of slipping closed, her eyes were frozen, wide and staring as the painful, fluttering churn of her chest built into terror.

The fear burst in a gasp. "W- what are you doing?"

He jerked back, blinking as if he'd been slapped. "Um. Nothing?"

She starred at him, and he cringed in that way he did where he thought no one could notice.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"I- No, _I'm_ sorry."

"No, no. It's alright." He offered a weak smile and held up a hand to reassure her. Somehow it felt as though he were pushing her away.

Her eyes dropped to the floor, contemplating the space between their feet. "You just... startled me is all."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Sorry... Really. I'll just... I'll go now. See ya 'round."

He moved to leave, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, and she found herself stepping forward, only just stopping herself before reaching for him, grasping desperately for something to say.

"I won't be startled _now_."

He paused, then turned slowly back towards her, his narrowed gaze causing her to fidget out of a mix of discomfort and excitement.

"I mean, if you wanted to- to try again?"

He circled back to her, considering her, waiting for her to change her mind. She bit her lip and swallowed before remembering that she needed to not bite her lip for him to kiss her.

And why was she so afraid of that? He'd kissed her before. She'd kissed him. He'd held her tight and touched her in places that made her blush to think about.

So now she was blushing. Great job, Rapunzel.

But now it was different. They weren't on opposing sides, their hearts weren't already racing or their systems pumped with adrenaline. They couldn't blame it on the heat of the moment, or pure lust. There wasn't anything forbidden or dangerous about it - at least not any that either of them was supposed to know about. This time they were just normal people and they kind of knew things about each other and kind of liked each other. This time there was some slight, unspoken possibility that they could have more, that it could _mean_ something.

And that was terrifying.

He took her by the shoulders, far more gently than he'd ever held her before, not trying to restrain her or entice her, treating her hesitantly, giving her an easy escape route if it was too much and she needed to shrug him off. His tentativeness was weird in and of itself.

And then he bent towards her, not pulling her close or pressing against her, but keeping her at an easy distance. Like touching her anywhere else might graze a bruise and hurt her. Like he'd been wanting to kiss her for days but was afraid, and him being afraid was just as crazy as her being afraid.

He was slow, cautious. And he was so tender that she realized it was the first time she'd felt his lips as more than a frantic pressure or an urgent rush of heat. He explored, cataloging each movement, each reaction and sensation, to wrap them both up and revel in every last feeling. And underneath the simplicity and the sweetness, she could feel his restraint like a tangible thing. She could feel him struggle, his determination both meltingly endearing and endlessly frustrating.

She reached for him, trying to exercise the same level of control even as her emotions rolled and seared inside her, and she ended up holding his elbows lightly, almost teasingly so, as part of her desperately wanted to fist the collar of his jacket and pull him close. She wanted to pounce on him just to make the lightheaded feeling fade, just to make it more physical and less intimate. She wanted to be Blondie, because Rapunzel was freaking out and she couldn't handle it by herself.

But this was _Eugene. _And he was gentle and kind, and he was offering a first kiss to reflect that. He was offering her a first kiss, and that meant there would be a second and a third, and she trembled from excitement and anxiety, the shivers pulsing down her spine with the movements of his mouth.

He eased away enough to rest his forehead against hers, to look down into her eyes with his lips parted and his breathing labored and raw adoration printed across his face. He made her want _more_, which was delicious and aggravating, and she sucked her lips into her mouth to taste him again and replay the moment with a gentle press of her tongue.

"Dinner?" he breathed.

"What?"

"Come and have dinner with me. I know a place."

She stared at him blankly and hoped the place he knew wasn't the pizzeria.

He raised his eyebrows and she realized she hadn't answered.

"Oh. Yes?"

"Yes?"

"Yes." She nodded just to emphasize the point, then smiled at the way it looked like he didn't quite believe her. "Dinner sounds nice."

He grinned and started walking backward towards her front door so he could keep grinning. And that was full on endearing without having to share room with any sort of other conflicting emotion, which only made her smile broaden.

"I'll get you that ice then. And don't forget your coffee."

She laughed a bit as she opened the door for him. "It's probably gone cold now."

He paused, half way out of her apartment. "You want another?"

"No, thank you."

"Ah," he said. "Good. Okay. Ice!" He pointed down the hallway towards the stairs as if reminding himself what he was doing, and set off.

She closed the door behind him, shaking her head and beaming at the idiocy of it all.

What on earth were they supposed to talk about over dinner?


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: Note the rating change.**

* * *

><p>Rapunzel made her way down to the pizzeria that evening after a five hour nap, a shower, and several pitiful dates with her ice packs. She found Charlie in the kitchen, spreading black olives over a pizza, with another about to come out of the oven. Eugene stood on the other side of the counter, reading the day's newspaper and scowling.<p>

"Something wrong?" she asked, her voice sounding rough from discomfort and disuse.

Charlie turned to beam at her with a "hey, girlie," and Eugene snapped up from his paper, quickly adjusting the angle of his hold on it in hopes she wouldn't see the front page.

This plan didn't work so well for him.

"Local hero defeats giant octopus, recovers Plutonium."

There was a large picture of the destroyed dock with several police officers looking down into the wreckage. One of them was probably Sargent Weaver. She wondered if he gave a statement.

"Nope. Nothing wrong here," Eugene said.

"You're frowning."

"Oh. Yeah. The damned Fighting Tunas lost again."

"Those bums!" Charlie gruffed.

"I know, right! It's the pitching."

"It's the management!" And thus Charlie set off on a long tirade against the entire coaching staff, management, owner, a few key players, and their rival team.

Eugene seemed to breathe easier with this distraction in place, and he folded the newspaper again, hiding it away under his arm and nodding distractedly with a few choice additions to the conversation to make it look like he was paying attention. "That game was a disgrace." "If only Bradford wasn't on the DL."

With a clenching of emotion in her stomach that she couldn't quite identify, Rapunzel realized that he was worried about Blondie.

Eugene looked over at her, past Charlie and his ranting. His eyes roamed over her form once, taking her in before he smiled at her. Somehow it didn't seem like he meant it.

"You look nice."

"Uh. Thanks?"

Charlie snorted without looking up from his diced peppers.

Eugene raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes darting to Charlie and back.

Oh right. The bruises. Wouldn't do to talk about them in front of Charlie.

Eugene's smile became more genuine as he laughed under his breath at her slow comprehension.

She'd covered all the purple marks with makeup and a long sleeved shirt. It was good industrial strength makeup, the kind they used in movies, the kind that could cover anything. Edna had given it to her when she finally got fed up with Rapunzel appearing in the newspapers with great black and blue splotches across her face. She claimed that the bruises were detracting from the outfit and went after Rapunzel with a rolled up magazine shouting, "In- correct- accessories!" Then she sat back and sighed, rubbing her forehead, and tossed a jar of makeup at the younger woman.

It worked amazingly well, but covered her freckles. Sometimes she wondered if that would give her away, especially when she only used it on one side. But then she reminded herself that no one looked at her that closely. They just nodded at her and possibly smiled, then turned back to their business. Like Charlie was doing now.

Except Eugene was looking. And maybe he was putting two and two together if he hadn't already. Octopus battle plus weird shaped bruises equals Holy Crap! Rapunzel and Blondie are the same person!

She shifted and looked away, down at her hands as they traced the edge of the counter, as if a change in the angle from which he saw her face would stop him from seeing a resemblance. "You look nice too, I mean."

That was a stupid thing to say, and she just knew he had one of his horrible Flynn Rider smirks plastered across his face. Her cheeks reddened just at the thought.

But when she glanced up, the look on his face surprised her. It was more a smile than a smirk, warmer, more enamored. Shocking.

"Nah," he said, mimicking her posture by grabbing the edge of the counter. "I smell like pizza."

"I like pizza." Then she felt stupid again. There should have been more smirking, but there wasn't and that was still confusing. It made her insides feel all warm.

She ran her hands back and forth across the edge of the counter, lingering a bit when they came near Eugene's hands. "And anyway, how you smell doesn't have anything to do with how you look."

"That's true. Good thing too. I don't want to look or sound like pizza."

"Do you taste like pizza?"

Oh God. How many stupid things could she say in one conversation? She needed to go climb in a hole or go to another social skills seminar.

"That depends," he said, his hands shifting nearer to hers.

"On what?"

He leaned in close until she could see the little freckles in his eyes, his shoulder brushing temptingly against hers, his voice dropping secretively. "On what kind of pizza. I refuse to be associated with anything involving bell peppers."

"I like bell peppers."

He shook his head in mock sadness, his face still very close to hers. "That's disappointing."

"Alright," Charlie growled, pulling the finished pizza from the oven and slipping it from the cutting board into a cardboard box. "Flirting time's over. Get back to work."

"You're cruel," Eugene said, pushing himself from the counter as if he didn't care about the interruption, as if he could still breathe and walk in a straight line and everything. He took the box, shoving it in a hot bag.

"Yeah, and they'll be another ready for you when you get back so don't take too long."

"Alright. I'm going." He pushed the door to the alley open with his back so as not to squish the pizza, and paused long enough to shoot her half a smile and a little wave.

Apparently that in itself was enough to make her blush because Charlie scoffed at her and shooed her out of his kitchen.

* * *

><p>After his lengthy absence, Flynn finally decided to make an appearance the next evening.<p>

She probably should have rested another day or so, given how after an hour of waiting she ached all over. But she had a feeling that he would show up and she would never be able to live it down if she wasn't there to stop him.

She thought she should have stayed home again when she dropped from a fire escape to land right in front of him as he darted down an alley, bringing him to a skidding halt and jarring every bone in her body. She rose slowly from the crouch in which she landed, glaring at him because her legs hurt and it was all his fault. He fell back into a defensive stance, bobbing on his toes, ready to dodge, a determined, angry set to his jaw.

A whip of hair lashed out to his left and he ducked right, only to find her waiting for him with a flurry of punches to his stomach that made him crumple slightly in on himself before blocking and then grabbing her arm. Another coil of hair lashed out at him, slapping around his leg and he dropped her arm. He ducked as she twirled, aiming a round house kick to his face.

Then he reached down for her hair as if struggling to break free, to escape, but instead he grabbed it with both hands and yanked, causing her to stumble and fall against his chest where he pinned her arms to her sides, his fingers still tangled and pulling at her hair, and clapped his mouth hungrily over hers.

He held her so tight it hurt, his fingers digging into her sore muscles. He crushed her against his chest and pulled her up onto her tiptoes, making her dizzy and tired and annoyingly elated that whatever awkwardness had set them back was now wiped away, that all the tension they'd built as Rapunzel and Eugene dissipated in a flash of heat and recklessness.

"Where's Mergirl?" he demanded, ending the kiss abruptly to glare at her.

She blinked at him, still slightly dazed. "Wha-"

He rolled his eyes and exhaled in irritation, then his lips were back on hers, one hand pressed firmly to the small of her back, the feel of his palm sinking into her skin through her suit. He held her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. From anyone else it would be a caress, from him it was demanding and aggressive. His fingers slid way too close to her mask, and yet she kept kissing him anyway.

"Where is she?" His voice came out something between a growl and a gasp, his lips barely leaving hers. "She did that photo op with the mayor a few days ago, so I know she's in town."

"I've no idea."

His fingers tightened against her back. "Blondie," he warned.

"It's the truth. I don't know where she was. I wish I did. I just have good timing and was in the right place at the right time, so I took care of it."

"You call that good timing?"

She shrugged.

"I don't like this uncanny knack you have for finding trouble."

She smirked, sliding an arm around his shoulder to pull herself up, her lips brushing his jaw line as she spoke. "Yes. I can tell. You _hate_ it."

"I'm just going to have to pull more jobs to keep you out of trouble."

"This is keeping me out of trouble?"

"Sure is."

And then they were kissing again, fervent as if they could somehow devour each other if only they wanted it badly enough. He didn't even stop her when she slipped the bag of diamonds he stole from his back pocket.

Maybe he didn't notice.

* * *

><p>There were things about being with Flynn that weren't easy. Like how he was frustrating and obnoxious and arrogant and how she always had a nagging feeling of guilt hidden just beneath the adrenaline. But it was much, much easier than being with Eugene.<p>

He picked her up for their date the next time he had a night off. Just as he promised, he took her to dinner. It ended up being a very nice place where they both felt under-dressed despite the fact that she wore her nicest sundress and he was always too attractive for his own good. He brushed it off with a laugh and a comment about how everyone was giving him the jealous stink eye because he got to eat with someone so pretty.

The sense of awkwardness and dread in Rapunzel's stomach only intensified.

She half expected him to use her as some sort of distraction so he could steal something from one of the more wealthy patrons. She expected a horde of ninja henchmen to drop from the ceiling and attack her and everyone around them. Why was he being so nice to her? There had to be a catch.

And why had he taken them somewhere so exorbitantly expensive? Her eyes widened slightly at the price of the grilled chicken, and she nearly tossed her menu away in horror at the price of the salmon.

She glanced up over her menu to judge his reaction. She imagined that Flynn was well off, what with the amount of valuables he'd stolen, but Eugene was a broke pizza guy. Was he going to pay for their dinner with dirty money? He'd probably think that was really clever.

But Eugene's eyes had stopped moving, his whole face frozen in place as he took in his options. He swallowed noticeably, then set his menu down and smiled at her as if he were worried but didn't want her to fret.

She narrowed her eyes and he started a conversation about an innocuous topic: traffic on the tollway, and then which of the elevated train lines were her favorite when she mentioned that she didn't drive too often. Her favorite was the green line, which ran past her house to the library and free museums downtown. Everyone said it was sketchy and dangerous, but that didn't bother Rapunzel and she felt it had more character than the other lines. She liked talking to the other riders as they warned her to get home before dark. Eugene's favorite was the red line, which took passengers off the island. They both agreed the blue line, which ran around the western shore line was the worst. It was always full of sand and tourists, and the seats were always damp from the swimmer that had sat there just before. There was always someone to accidentally hit you in the head with a surfboard.

It was nice, she supposed, but everything between them felt so restrained, like they were walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around each other. The lack of honesty was palpable, and she couldn't figure out why that was the case with Eugene when the same thing was happening with Flynn without it bothering her. Maybe because she and Flynn could admit they were doing something wrong and that brought them closer. With Eugene, they had yet to hit upon anything that could bring them together. Even their conversations only seemed to skate across the surface of their lives.

Or maybe this was just how first dates went, when you were trying to impress someone, trying to figure them out without letting them see how crazy you were. And Rapunzel was really crazy, so hiding it didn't leave much to discuss.

When their waiter appeared, Eugene ordered a glass of water and an appetizer special. Rapunzel ordered a milkshake. Then they both stared down the waiter as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do at a nice restaurant, until he left with a sigh.

A moment later, Eugene snorted, and Rapunzel couldn't help but laugh with him.

He kissed her good night in the car when he dropped her off, leaning over the gear shift and cupping her cheek gently, as though he thought he would break her. It was simple and sweet and so kind that she felt fluttery afterward, like she might sprout fairy wings and hover off the ground. But he was still holding back. They both were. And she was left confused and frustrated and overjoyed and unable to wait for their next date, which might go better.

She grabbed Flynn by the belt as he ran past her hiding place that night, jerking him into an abandoned warehouse where she made him kiss her thoroughly. She could barely see him in the dark, but she could hear him groan against her ear, his arms holding her tight, her hand slipping under the hem of his shirt to feel every warm, jumping muscle in his abs.

It took far longer than usual to remind herself not to get distracted. She had a job to do, after all, and she eased one hand free from its needy groping in his hair to take the handcuffs from her belt and lock him into place for the police to find later (or for him to escape before the police found him.)

But her handcuffs weren't there.

Flynn broke their kiss to grin at her in the dark. "Missing something?" He waved them in front of her face, dangling them from one finger.

"Give them back," she snapped.

"Now why would I do that?"

She growled and tried to pull away, but he held her in place with a hand held firm and low against her spine.

"You'll have to fight me for them," he said. Then he kissed her again.

And she shoved him, causing them both to nearly lose their balance.

She and Eugene went to the movies next, because that's what normal people do on a date. They stood in front of the ticket seller for far too long trying to decide what to see. The animated thing about penguins looked fun, but she didn't want to admit that to Eugene. His eyes seemed to linger on the action movie poster – something about high speed car chases - but when she asked if he'd like to see it, he said no. They should see what she wanted.

The romantic movie was probably out and the depressing award season contender was probably out too.

"The war movie?"

"Huh? Really?"

"Umm. No. Never mind."

They ended up seeing a documentary about bears, which was neat because Rapunzel learned so much from it and now she loved bears, but she still spent the whole time worrying that Eugene wasn't enjoying himself or that he would say something rude about the bears.

Then she had to try not to eat all the chocolate covered mints. She had to leave some for him, which was really difficult.

She decided that they just weren't very good at normal date things. Or maybe that was just her and not being good at normal things. Either way, she was tired of all the stress and decided she'd had about enough of his fake, mellow identity and whatever it was he was attempting to accomplish by being so sweet to her.

She wanted him to let her in, loosen up. He acted as though he was casual, as though he was telling her things about himself and what he liked and what he wanted from life. But he was so obviously holding things back. She couldn't tell if the pieces she glimpsed were real or some sort of act he was putting on to fool her.

With Flynn there were no holds bared and the lines that held back their secrets were clearly marked and not to be crossed. With Eugene she had no idea where the lines were, so it seemed as though everything was a secret.

Everything but the way he looked at her.

Flynn caught her that night, pinning her to a pipe, pulling her leg around his waist, making her breath catch and her eyes close as she clutched his shoulders and bit into his earlobe.

It only made her more determined to make headway with Eugene. Maybe someday he'd kiss her like this too. She wanted more passion in their goodnight kisses.

She wanted him to be himself, but that goal was always swept to the side where it went unnoticed, never crystallizing completely in her mind. She wanted all of him and maybe this alternate persona was the way to accomplish that, but that idea was so absurd that she just kept coming back to how he must be using her and laughing about it later.

She really wished he'd get on with it, whatever it was – opening up or snapping the trap closed. The anticipation and uncertainty was killing her.

So she tested him. Their next few dates, she told him where they were going and bit down her painful desire to falter and ask him if that was alright. Of course he went along with it, smiling slightly and letting her lead the way.

They went rollerskating.

They went to a pumpkin patch even though they were out of season.

They went to a concert where the performers only whistled.

They ate at a restaurant where the food still wriggled.

She wanted him to dislike it. She was mad at him, so dragging him over the coals seemed a good revenge. She wanted him to snap and let slip whatever fiendishness he was plotting. She wanted to get a rise out of him and the only way she knew to do that was to start a fight.

But he didn't snap. He caught her as she fell rollerskating, then fell to the ground himself before she could kick herself for messing up, and she plastered a band-aid to his elbow where he fell, and he grinned at her, letting his hand linger against her side as he kept her from rolling away.

They sat on a hay block, admiring the empty pumpkin patch, and she prevented herself from feeling awkward with a glare and sheer determination.

He lazily pulled a piece of hay from the bock and tickled her ear with it, making her jump, and he laughed before asking why she liked pumpkins so much. She didn't really. They were neat, but they were mostly neat when you could see them and touch them and eat them. She was just there because it was decidedly not fun, and that's probably what he was getting at with the question.

She scowled.

For a moment he looked confused, worried that their date was going so poorly or worried for her mental health or his weird plan or whatever. Then he took a deep breath, slapped his hands on his knees, pulled her to her feet, and drove them both to the supermarket where they bought some squash. He then brought them back to the pizzeria to settle into the kitchen where they carved funny shapes into their newly acquired produce.

And they started talking. They probably talked more than they should have. She told him far too much without meaning to. And his lies were so sad, so believable, so honest sounding. He didn't have friends either, he said, which she found hard to believe until she remembered that he had very, very little free time.

He said he didn't have a family. She stared down at her squash and admitted she didn't have anything like that either. Then she forced herself to stop talking, and he thankfully changed the subject to something less depressing.

The whistling concert quickly turned into a joke, and they got through it with Eugene's whispered side comments that made her giggle. They made it through with his hand carefully holding hers.

Then he straight up asked her what they were doing eating live squids, and when she couldn't answer, he told her she was weird. Somehow when he said it, he made it sound like an endearing quality rather than an accusation.

He held a squid up between two fingers, watching it wriggle. "This is unattractive," he said. "I'm not getting any action if I eat this."

She had been carefully eating all the garnish around the squid on her plate, but his words made her pause. He'd made it pretty clear that he wanted to spend time with her more than he wanted to suck on her neck.

She didn't get it. Did he not like her neck? Was he trying not to get distracted so he could focus on getting to know her and find out all her secrets? Was he trying to take it slow because he liked her? She'd heard about that on television, but didn't really understand it. This was the case with most things in Rapunzel's life.

She blinked at him. "You were expecting some action?"

He shrugged, pointedly not looking at her in favor of inspecting his food from another angle.

She couldn't tell if that was a proposition or a slip when he was actually talking about Blondie. Lately she'd been using her industrial strength makeup to cover the hickeys Flynn gave her so Eugene wouldn't see them. It'd be a dead giveaway if he left some kind of mark on her, then found it later when she was out of costume.

Plus it would _really_ hurt Eugene's feelings.

Poor Eugene.

She'd started getting these flashes of Eugene's smile when she was with Flynn. The thought ripped through her mind as she bit down a moan against the roll and pull of Flynn's tongue on her neck, as they toppled to the ground. He kicked a trashcan as he fell and landed with an "oof," his breath tickling across her skin, the deep timber of his voice rumbling down her spine to the pit of her stomach. She pinned his arms over his head, still pressing her throat to his lips so he could continue even as he struggled against her grip and bit her.

Poor Eugene.

"Because," she said slowly, setting down her fork and giving up on her food, "I'd be alright with that."

He looked up at her, staring her down, seeing if she was serious.

She was.

"I'm not eating this then. And you don't eat it either. I'll get you a burger or something, just... Yeah, let's get the check."

* * *

><p>Eugene's face was set in deep concentration, fingers pressed to his mouth, eyes scanning back and forth over the game board in front of him as if he were reading. The seriousness with which he was taking this idea, which she knew was pretty silly, made her heart flutter.<p>

But then again, his determination in the face of frivolity and his general good looks were distracting her into making stupid mistakes. It occurred to her briefly that he might be using it as some kind of strategy, distracting her so he would be victorious.

She pushed away her suspicions with more ease than she had a week before. It was fine. There was no way she was going to lose. No one could beat her at board games.

They were sitting on the worn hardwood floor of her apartment, playing Battleship. It was still a weird date, but they'd moved on to things she actually enjoyed – things she was sharing with him. She was letting him in, which filled her stomach with something trembling that she couldn't quite label as fear, but couldn't quite call excitement.

Coming to a decision, Eugene sat up straight, rubbing his hands on his knees. "B6."

Rapunzel glanced down at her side of the board, noting the location of her battleships as related to his attack. She tried not to let the result show on her face as she asked, "You sure about that?"

He smirked. "I am now."

"I'm just trying to help you so you don't lose again," she said innocently.

"Oh yeah?"

She nodded. "I think you should pick a different spot."

"Hmm. Well, if that's what you think." He rubbed his jaw and shot her a sly grin, watching her over the top of his glasses.

"I am the expert," she said.

"That's true. Alright... F8."

"Miss!"

"Crap!"

She laughed as he marked his failure, still smirking slightly to himself.

He really was a good sport. He'd prove himself an even better sport when he found out that that his first guess would have been a miss too. He thought he knew where almost all her ships were now. Whenever he eventually decided to attack them and end the game, he'd find out they were never there at all and she would win in a landslide.

No one could defeat her at Battleship. She was way too sneaky.

Maybe he was doing something similar, only his sneakiness involved being nice to her and letting her win.

She was okay with that.

And he was cute when he was very obviously trying to give her the advantage that she didn't even need. If she had needed it, it probably would have irritated her, but as it was...

She grinned, then clambered forward, crawling over the game to take his face in her hands.

"Hey! You're kicking my board," he said, trying to stabilize her with one hand on her waist and trying to push his board out of the way with the other as she accidentally kicked it. "You're gonna send little pegs flying everywhere and I'm not helping you find them... And now your behind enemy lines, you spy. This is cheating!"

She giggled as he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her closer. He didn't stop grumbling about her foul play until she cut him off.

Whenever she interrupted Flynn mid sentence by grabbing him by the hair or the front of his shirt or the back of his neck and kissed him just because she hated him so much, he would keep trying to talk even as he attempted to sink his teeth in her lower lip. He fought to finish whatever annoying thing he was saying, because he felt like it and he would do whatever he wanted and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Eugene just surrendered. He stopped what he was doing and kissed her back.

His hands skated up her sides as if trying not to press on any faded bruises that neither of them would acknowledge were there, as if he were hesitant, as if he were asking permission to touch her. She found it adorable and exactly what she needed. She found it frustrating and the opposite of what she wanted. So she sank into his lap and stretched an arm around his neck and moved her lips more enthusiastically against his.

There was a fire just beneath the surface of his skin. She could feel it lying just under his painful restraint. She had felt it in the shadows as she was pressed between a brick wall and his chest. Now it was a kind of refreshing challenge to coax him into letting go, into relaxing his inhibitions and tightening the grip of his fingers.

It was a challenge, but not a fight – one she'd overcome in due time by talking and laughing and playing board games rather than through ferocity and manipulation.

Her heart fluttered as he pressed closer, her thoughts spinning as his fingers slipped over the hem of her shirt, one calloused hand threading through her hair, brushing the back of her neck so that she shivered even with the heat.

A sudden knock at the door jerked them apart.

For the briefest moment her heart leapt, because a knock at her door meant that Eugene was there. Eugene! Yay!

Then through the happy, warm cloud of her mind, she realized that that was stupid because Eugene was obviously in front of her, giving her an odd look, and she shouldn't be that excited for him to visit, and she shouldn't be having these kinds of Pavlovian reactions.

But if he was here, then who was outside? She turned to stare at the door, feeling all different kinds of befuddled. She jumped when the knock came a second time, and scrambled away from Eugene, using his shoulder to push herself to her feet, untangling one of her legs from his, and flattening down her hair, trying to bring her heated face under control before opening the door.

She heard him laugh under his breath behind her as she stumbled, but she refused to look back at him. Stupid Eugene for laughing at her, and stupid her for getting that flustered, and stupid whoever it was who was interrupting them. She threw open the door with a scowl that melted immediately into a look of surprise.

A brown haired woman stood on her doorstep, dressed in neat, professional clothes, looking far too poised to be in Rapunzel's crummy hallway.

"B-Belle?" Rapunzel stuttered, drawing the door closed ever so slightly.

"Hello," Belle said.

How did she find her? How was everybody finding her? Was her address printed somewhere she didn't know about? And - oh no - now the league would know about her hair!

She stopped herself from running her fingers through it, pulling the door even closer to her body. Her last hope was that Belle wouldn't see Eugene. Flynn. Whoever.

Belle smiled, something soft and beautiful that still felt predatory enough to give Rapunzel shivers. Or maybe those were left over from Eugene.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to give you an invitation to Jasmine's baby shower," she said, pulling a crisp envelope from her purse. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to give it to you yesterday at work, but there was a problem at the printer's."

Rapunzel blinked at it. Jasmine was pregnant? Great. There would be even more criminals running around without supervision if Jasmine was going to disappear on maternity leave.

No. Wait. This was a cover. Of course. She wasn't thinking straight.

That was Eugene's fault.

"We're really hoping you'll be able to come." Something glittered in Belle's eyes that made it clear that the invitation was not a request.

In the super hero community, Belle was more commonly known as The Beast. With a roar and the cracking of extending bones and the rippling bulge of her muscles, she could transform into a monster as big as a bear, her brown hair exploding to cover her whole form. She grew horns and claws and fangs like a gargoyle, while her eyes stayed as sharp and dangerous as they were now. Rapunzel had once watched in horror as The Best mauled a mob boss, leaping at him from across the room and tearing into his flesh. Just the thought of it now turned her stomach.

"Yeah," she said, swallowing and taking the envelope. "I'd love to come. That will be fun."

She felt Eugene sneak up behind her, feeling warm even though he didn't touch her. She imagined she could smell him. He pulled at the door handle to try to open it further, and she tightened her grip on the door to hold it still, fighting the urge to glare at him.

Belle narrowed her eyes slightly and Rapunzel plastered on a fake smile that probably gave her away even more.

"I guess I have to bring a gift."

"That's generally the way these things work," Belle said with a smile.

What kind of gift do you get for a baby shower? Rapunzel had never been to one. Then what kind of gift do you get when the baby is entirely fictional?

A cheap gift. That's what.

Eugene had moved to peer through the peek hole in her door. She really ought to use that more. And he really ought to use it less.

"Alright. I'll see you then," Rapunzel said, trying to hurry the encounter along as Eugene pulled on the door handle again.

Belle looked suspicious, then seemed to think better of it. She nodded and turned to leave with a wave. Rapunzel closed the door and locked it, pressing her back against it before scowling at Eugene.

His hair and shirt were distinctly ruffled, which would have been horribly embarrassing if Belle had seen him. Or it would have been embarrassing until she recognized him, and then it would be horrifying.

"Friend of yours?"

"Co-worker," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't want to be seen with me."

"Uh... I... Well..." She shifted and rubbed her arm.

He bent forward to force himself into her line of sight and for a moment they just stared at each other.

What did he want her to say? Was he really concerned about not meeting her friends? Surely he realized that was a stupid idea and what they were doing had to stay a secret. Or – wait – maybe he didn't. It was hard to tell. He shouldn't be worried anyway because she didn't really have any friends.

Or was his ultimate evil plan to let everyone know about their relationship and ruin her reputation forever?

Then again if he really didn't recognize her then she wasn't being the best girlfriend.

Girlfriend?

She shifted again, then muttered quietly, "I just don't really want to watch you flirt with her."

Something in his face softened. "Seriously?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed as she realized that that actually was the truth. At least in part.

His hand found her hip again, the other cupping her face. "Come on, I wouldn't do that."

"She's prettier than me."

He scoffed. "No, she's not. Her face is _huge_."

She bit her lip to hold back a smile. "You were looking through the peek hole. It distorts the image."

He shook his head, laughing at her quietly, his breath brushing against her skin. "You're prettier and I'm sure you're four times as interesting. At least. Probably more."

She blushed despite herself, feeling the warmth in his eyes heat her whole face.

"You're the only girl for me," he murmured bending to kiss her with such tenderness, she thought she might melt.

For a moment she completely believed him.

Then she remembered.

* * *

><p>Rapunzel had no idea what to wear. Eugene laughed at her when she mentioned it, but she saw it as a serious issue.<p>

Was she supposed to wear street clothes or was she supposed to wear her jumpsuit and sneak in through a back window or something? Both had their benefits. It wouldn't do to be the only one in or out of their disguise. She also still disliked the idea of the league knowing what she looked like out of costume. They'd already shown up at her apartment, basically flaunting their knowledge of her identity. Maybe she should fight back by showing up in street clothes, just as a statement that she didn't care if they knew and they had nothing on her.

Then again the league were very buddy-buddy and they didn't mind at all if everyone knew their real names. They told Rapunzel on previous encounters that it was a sign of trust amongst them. Everyone in the league knew everything about each other. So the fact that they had let Rapunzel in on the secrets already, and that they seemed to know everything about her implied that she was part of the league already and fighting against the inevitable was futile. She didn't like that. And to her it seemed less like a show of solidarity and more like a show of strength: together they could neutralize any threat to their security.

These were the kind of power-plays and subterfuge that Rapunzel generally tried to avoid. But what with Flynn in her life, she hadn't been doing a good job lately.

She decided to deal with the issue of what to wear to the fake baby shower the same way she was was dealing with Flynn. She did what was easiest and tried not to over think it.

She wore a purple dress that fell to her knees over a nice pair of pants just in case she had to kick anyone. Staring at herself in the mirror for far too long, she decided it looked silly, then she thought it was kinda fun, then she thought her nose was too small, so she determinedly looked away. She wore her hair short and brown because then she wouldn't have to drag it around or braid it.

Problem solved!

She bought a small stuffed moose that she saw at the drug store and struck her as especially cute. She made sure to wrap her present neatly, going so far as to buy shiny ribbon. Shiny ribbon was fun and would be appreciated even if no one cared about the moose (which they should because it had sad, black eyes and looked like it should be hugged frequently.)

The address on the invitation took her to upscale restaurant owned and operated by one of the league members. Two men in sharp, black vests, shined shoes, and bow ties opened the door for her, bowing slightly as she passed. Another stood at a podium to take her name, make a mark in a book, and then shuffle her off with yet another man in a vest.

He led her on a winding path through the restaurant, past little round tables that sat four and booths snuggled up against the wall. Despite the odd afternoon time, when most people would have long since finished lunch and not yet turned to thoughts of dinner, the restaurant was still marginally crowded. A low, warm murmur of a dozen conversations surrounded her, acting like white noise, and the whole, large main room smelled of fresh vegetables and sweet, warm baked goods.

They walked past the stage where a pianist provided quiet background music. She'd heard that at night full bands occupied the stage and music poured out of every creaking floorboard and the patrons would dance wildly, carelessly. She'd heard that at night the place was lit by the enormous candelabra that twinkled and hovered over her head, but this afternoon the room was lit by the skylights, making the room airy and bright.

The waiter led her up a wide flight of stairs to the private rooms that looked out onto the dance floor below like box seats at the opera. He slid open a thin privacy panel to reveal a room containing only a long table and about a dozen chairs.

She hesitated, then turned to the waiter, who had bowed again as he waited for her to enter. "Am I the first one here?"

He cleared his throat and gestured at the room, like someone presenting the product in an infomercial. "If you'll have a seat, miss."

She did not like the sound of that at all, but she stepped into the room anyway, the door sliding shut behind her. She brushed down her hair on either side with her palm, then took a seat – not at the head or foot, and not directly in the middle of a side, but a bit to the right.

After an awkward moment she crossed her heels under her chair and set her present purposefully on the table in front of her. The curled ribbon had begun to wilt and she fluffed it carefully before pushing the box slightly away from herself as she attempted to make it look casual, then folded her hands in her lap.

With that, the wall slid open, revealing a dim hallway. The movement was surprisingly silent despite the fact that it looked like real brick. She took this as an invitation, and squared her shoulders, collected her present, and marched through the doorway.

The hallway wound around and down, a secret passage through the walls left over from smuggling days. Or maybe it was once used to make the waitstaff more invisible. Maybe both.

Somewhere deep in the basement, the hallway opened out into a foyer and ended abruptly in a great set of steel double doors. A camera on the side, mounted above a key pad and a thumb print reader, swiveled to look at her.

"Umm," she said. "I'm here for the baby shower?"

There was a pause. Then the doors clunked as they unlocked and hissed as they opened outward, causing Rapunzel to take a few hurried steps backward.

In front of her was the league's conference room, white and bright and sterile and in vast contrast with the warm and earthy brick hallways. Everything shone with glass touch screens and quietly blinking blue buttons. All the rounded edges gave it the aesthetic of some kind of a futuristic space ship.

And in the center, around an oval table, sat the League of Peace.

When assembled together, they were truly intimidating. None of them stood, greeted her, or even sat up straighter in their chairs at her approach, and yet every deadly eye was on her. They'd been waiting.

And, of course, most of them were in full superhero regalia, leaving Rapunzel to feel utterly foolish.

Glass Slipper sat the closest, a pale silver band ran across her chest from shoulder to opposite hip, holding a collection of throwing knives that seemed to glimmer with intimidation. Her blonde hair was piled neatly on her head to keep it out of the way, her white mask painted across her eyes, enhancing her features more than concealing. She was the only of the superheroes who worked in heels – long stilettos said to be one of the more deadly and painful weapons at her disposal, said to be made of glass.

Rapunzel had trouble believing it. How did she run in those shoes? How did they not shatter when she landed from a jump out a second story window? How did she not clack with every footstep? Glass Slipper was know for her stealth, which meant the shoes were either forged from some transparent, sound absorbing material (that probably wouldn't be beyond Edna Mode's means) or Glass Slipper actually floated everywhere instead of walking, hovering just an inch above the ground. That would explain her unnatural grace.

Next to her sat the Jabberwocky, a short, painfully thin girl with far too many ribbons setting her hair into a tangled mess of pigtails. Her eyes were sunken and set off with thick, dark eyeliner that might have been black and might have been purple and matched her nail polish. Black and white striped stockings were visible under her pale blue miniskirt, fluffed with a great flounce of ruffles.

Her outfit was completely impractical, but then again the Jabberwocky tended to stay out of the action, disabling her foes from afar with hallucinations that spanned from nagging feelings that they'd left the stove on and should go home and check to horrifying nightmares that could rip the mind apart.

To her left sat Snow White. Her bright red lips were her only facial feature not covered by her blue flight helmet, complete with yellow visor through which she could apparently see. Her red cape draped neatly over her shoulders, arranged more perfectly than Rapunzel could have ever managed. If Rapunzel had had a cape, it would end up waded up behind her or under her butt or on the floor. Like her hair.

Snow had a helicopter and knew how to fly it. The helicopter had a megaphone, and several times she had buzzed over Rapunzel's head, to announce sassy things to whatever criminal she was chasing - usually Flynn, who would roll his eyes and shoot a rude hand gesture, which just encouraged Snow to make further comments.

Belle thankfully wore normal clothes. Very nice, business appropriate clothes, that still made Rapunzel feel under-dressed, but at least it wasn't a full disguise like the others. Belle didn't have a super hero outfit. That's what happened when your power was morphing into a giant bear-dog. But Rapunzel did have to wonder how many of her nice shirts she had ripped to shreds in her transformation.

Tiana was still in her chef's attire, a white coat that buttoned up one side. She was obviously on a break from her work in the kitchen. Lucky for her that she owned a place that housed secret headquarters. Unlike everyone else, she didn't have to take the afternoon off work and she didn't have to force on her usual pair of black and purple tights.

Next to her, Mergirl looked thoroughly put out, her arms crossed over her chest, as if she were protecting herself with the blade like fins on the forearms of her wet suit. Her lips were pulled into a pout, her eyes narrowed. Her mask, which seconded as a kind of scuba gear, was missing today, which was odd, but then again she didn't need it here and it was probably very uncomfortable.

Rapunzel wondered what had her so upset. Everyone else in the room looked somber, but not ticked off.

Then finally there was The Scarab, her long, dark hair pulled up on her head in such a way as to set off the harsh arch of her eyebrows. The scimitars at her hip glimmered in the bright overhead light as Rapunzel moved towards her, setting her present on the table in front of her.

"For your baby shower," Rapunzel muttered.

The Scarab lifted an eyebrow, something like amusement playing about her lips, and Rapunzel looked away quickly, slipping into one of the seats left vacant for Aurora and – she guessed – herself.

That thought caused something to sink in her gut.

"Hello, High Tower. We've been waiting for you."

Rapunzel bit down a cringe. You don't get to pick your super hero name. The press does that for you. But she thought her name (derived from the location of her first heroic activities) was especially awful. It gave her chills and she used it as infrequently as possible. She'd even gotten the police, and Flynn, and a handful of reporters to stop using it, but the league was immovable.

"Sorry?" she said. Out of disguise and with everyone looking at her, she felt small and meek. They made her feel inferior, like a helpless child again.

She set her shoulders and tried to shake away the feeling. She was capable. She was fierce. They couldn't bully her like this.

"Why did you ask me here?" she asked.

The Jabberwocky clicked several keys on the panel in front of her and one wall of the room lit up like a giant movie screen. They projected a picture of the dock, ruined from her battle with Ursula, the same picture on the front page of the Corona Tribune that she had found Eugene reading.

"You've been fighting enemies that are not your concern," Glass Slipper said.

Rapunzel blinked. Was that it? Was that why Mergirl was so angry?

"Why were you pursuing Ursula?"

"I wasn't. I was at the dock and she attacked me. I only fought back to defend myself. If any of you had shown up I would have gladly let you have her."

"But what were you doing on the docks?"

"I was sent by the police to protect the trident." And why was it any of their business what she was doing? She didn't have to report to them.

"You _stole_ the trident," Mergirl snapped.

"I stole it to keep it safe. I was delivering it when I was ambushed."

Belle held up her hand gently, telling them both to calm themselves, then she spoke softly. "The police have no record of sending you to protect it." She was stating a simple fact, but also showing that they had already checked, and that wasn't a good sign.

Rapunzel glared and crossed her arms over her chest until she looked like Mergirl. She wasn't going to give Sergeant Weaver away. He got in enough trouble because of her already.

"She wasn't your villain to deal with. It wasn't your problem," Tiana said.

"If someone is threatening my city or the people in it, they are my problem. I'm not going to let bad guys run rampant because you've called dibs on all the criminals. If you're going to do that then you actually need to take care of them when they show up."

"You already have a criminal to deal with. One who is still at large."

"I've caught him several times," Rapunzel said. "He keeps escaping from jail."

"Then maybe he needs to be put someplace more secure," The Scarab said. "We have facilities that can hold people like him. If it's like you say and his threat to the city is the responsibility of every crime fighter, then you won't mind if we take a shot at putting him away."

A white hot drop of possessiveness oozed down her throat. No, they were not allowed to go after him because he was hers. She was the only one able to predict his movements, the only one who had come close to catching him.

An image flashed across her mind of Flynn fighting with someone else, of his smirk, of the way he would pull them close to distract them. They'd be pressed tight against his chest, their fingers in his hair.

And Rapunzel would rip their head off in a jealous rage.

The league should stay away from her man.

Disgusted with herself, she realized this was an especially hypocritical view point. It didn't make it any less painful to hear, but it was still hypocritical and she should acknowledge that. Maybe Mergirl felt the same way?

Rapunzel kind of hoped not.

She hoped the jealousy and hurt didn't show on her face as she softly replied, "No. No, I wouldn't mind."

The Scarab nodded.

"Good," Glass Slipper said, her voice a bit too happy in light of how Rapunzel's stomach churned. "Now that we have your cooperation, we can get down to business."

"Business?" So their main purpose in calling her here wasn't to scold her? Then what was the point of that? Just to set her on edge? It seemed to Rapunzel like they would do better to make her feel at ease rather than putting her on the defensive. But they never did operate the way she thought they should.

And who said anything about cooperation?

"Yes. We need to catch Flynn Rider as quickly as possible."

With a few more keystrokes, a complicated table of times and dates and figures spread across the wall. "We've analyzed his recent heists along with his attempted heists." Mostly attempted heists. "And we were unable to find a pattern." Some sort of graphic worked through the table, pulling up common threads – times or the value of the object taken – but each algorithm failed to explain every robbery. Rapunzel couldn't tell much of what they were looking for, and thought the graphic a bit strange.

"You however, seem to understand the pattern to his madness," Glass Slipper continued. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Rapunzel blinked at her, then turned slowly to stare at the rest of the league. "I- I don't know. I just kind of... know?"

The league stared back at her, making it clear that that was not an acceptable answer. "Umm. I know he reads the Tribune. And if there's anything worth stealing mentioned in it, he'll go for it. Or if they have banners advertising museum exhibits or posters on the train. If someone else tries to steal something and fails, he'll try as soon as they make bail so they can see him do it."

She also knew what nights he had off because his work schedule was not only posted in the pizzeria office, but he would also tell her so they could go on a date. But she wasn't going to tell them that part.

The Jabberwocky took note of everything she said, pulling up the newspaper archives and running some sort of search. Pictures from the paper flashed by, occasionally pausing and blinking as it matched with an item on their list of Flynn's crimes.

If she really wanted to help them, she could say, "Well, this is where he works and he'll be there at 9. It wouldn't be that hard to set a trap for him." But she didn't really want to help them.

What if they did manage to catch him? She'd never see him again. Not that she wasn't trying as hard as she could or anything...

"Why do you want to catch him so badly all of a sudden? I mean, I want to catch him too, but – I don't know, it seems like you generally go for bigger culprits." Culprits who were actually hurting people, who were threatening something besides overly shiny necklaces that were far to valuable to ever wear.

Glass Slipper pretended not to hear her question and asked her own. "How do you keep up with him? The police always lose him when he runs. Do you know where he's going?"

"I have an idea. A general direction. I haven't been able to pinpoint it yet. And as for keeping up with him... I run fast?"

"He's not letting you catch him?"

She barely held back the chill that slipped through her veins. "I don't think so," she lied. It was an okay lie. Even if he was letting her catch him, he still made it hard enough that they lost the police, so she still had to work at it and anyone in good enough shape should be able to keep up.

Everyone was staring at her, waiting to hear more, making her uncomfortable again. "I'm missing something. What happened?"

For a moment there was only silence, then Belle leaned forward in her seat to rest her forearms across the table. "Two weeks ago he stole from Ariel."

What? "From Ariel?" Rapunzel turned to Mergirl, who was purposefully glaring down at the table in front of her.

No wonder she was so upset.

"What did he take?"

Mergirl refused to respond, her lips pressing tightly together. Belle hesitated a moment then said, "He took her television."

That didn't make any sense. How did he get to her television? Did she carry it around with her? Did he- Oh.

"Oh."

"He broke into my house!" Mergirl snapped. "How did he know where I live?"

Something unpleasant twisted in Rapunzel's stomach. He knew where she lived too. Was she just a piece in his collection? Was he going to steal from her too? She made a mental note to check that all her stuff was still there, then berated herself for letting the league cause her to distrust him, then berated herself again because she really ought to distrust him just the way she had been distrusting him since he showed up.

She swallowed. Surely there was some explanation. "Rider doesn't take electronics. How do you know it was him? Maybe it was just a random burglary."

Before Mergirl could finish scoffing, The Jabberwocky was already pulling up a black and white video from a security camera.

"We checked with the black market, and all the local pawn shops," Glass Slipper said. "We finally found it here. Someone showed up at the orphanage to donate it. The headmaster thought it was suspicious and called the police to check that it wasn't reported stolen."

The video clearly showed Flynn stroll as casually as he could considering the large flat screen he was carrying without the aid of a box and the wires trailing behind him. He grinned and said something, apparently explaining about the TV. The tape fast forwarded to the point a half hour later when he left, turning just before he opened the door to shot a wink and a salute directly at the camera.

"He helped them get it set up," Snow said softly.

Rapunzel nearly laughed, a kind of ridiculous, hysterical laugh. Had he forced the League of Peace to come in and taken the orphan's television away? Or had Mergirl had to suck it up and buy a new one?

"He also left a note," Belle said. The whole table seemed to stiffen, as if she'd said something she shouldn't have. But Belle's eyes focused only on Rapunzel, watching her reaction with keen, predatory precision.

The Jabberwocky hesitated before pulling up a photograph of a note clearly in Flynn's handwriting.

_I've got my eye on Twinkle Toes' stereo system. Digital. Surround sound. Nice. Keep that in mind for the next time you treat Blondie like your babysitter. _

_And I'm taking this too, seeing as how you're not using this to take down super villains. I think it suits me. What do you think?_

_Have a great day,_

_Flynn Rider_

She read the note three times, then stared at it as a whole, trying to force the pieces into place. Her voice was brittle and cracked over the words. "What else did he take?"

Glass Slipper made the slightest of shrugging gestures and said simply, "Her mask."

The sickening chill that had been running through her bones, hinting at emotions but never truly taking hold, never solidifying into something she could understand, finally took form. He was sending a clear and dangerous message. And he was doing it because he hated to see her hurt.

Suddenly she found it difficult to breathe. Too many emotions spun through her mind, clenching in her chest. She found herself staring at his signature, using it as an anchor in the storm that crashed and welled around her.

"He's attacking you," she breathed.

"Yes, and we're attacking him back before he does more damage," Belle said.

"He knows where I live," Mergirl repeated. "He knows who I am. Do you realize what kind of damage he could do with that?"

Of course she knew. Rather than answer a rhetorical question (which she'd learned early on didn't need answers) she turned to Glass Slipper in what may have seemed a non sequitur. "Do you really have a nice stereo system?"

The woman's frown deepened, unhappy that she was so easily identified as Twinkle Toes. "Yes."

Rapunzel nodded. "Then he knows where two of you live."

The league was clearly unhappy with this assessment, even though they'd come to the same conclusion even before her arrival. Maybe they just didn't like hearing it aloud.

"That seems to be the case," Belle said. "The question is how he came to posses this information."

Rapunzel shook her head. There was really no telling how Flynn knew everything he knew. He was a mystery.

Then she stilled, her eyes narrowing marginally, that dizzy chill shifting from her lungs to her heart. "Wait," she said. "You don't - You don't think I'm helping him?"

"Are you?" Belle asked.

"No!" The same way she wouldn't help him steal things and she wouldn't help him escape, she wouldn't give him information about other crime fighters, even if they were rude and suspicious. It was like an unwritten code. You just don't give away information about people's identity. That's why she wouldn't turn in Flynn when he was Eugene. That's why the prospect of someone misusing the information was so appalling.

"I honestly wouldn't know enough to help him anyway. I only know your first names. You couldn't find someone's home address with that."

"I'm sure you could," The Scarab said.

"I'm not helping him stalk you."

"Even if it means getting back at us?" Snow asked.

"I don't want to get back at you. I'm annoyed that I've needed to pick up your slack lately, and, yeah, those bruises weren't fun, but it's not like I took this job just so that I could get upset every time I had to fight a monster."

"We're just noting how strange it is that, given twenty minutes and limited resources, you can defeat a fully grown sea monster, but in a year and a half with a single man, you've been unable to bring him to justice," Glass Slipper said.

Rapunzel had trouble keeping the irritation out of her voice. "I _told_ you. I've caught him several times. His escapes aren't my fault."

"And then there's this note," Jasmine said, "where the two of you appear to be very close."

"This latest escapade of his is news to me. Maybe he's even doing it just to get me in trouble."

For a moment everyone just watched her, their faces grim and pitying. "Surely you can understand our concern," Belle said.

"Your concern about him or your concern about me?"

Again, no one answered her question. The answer was obvious.

"You need to bring him in," Belle said. Her voice was gentle yet commanding, making it clear that there was no room for argument and yet implying that she somehow understood Rapunzel's situation. She didn't understand. None of them did. "Do it before he does more damage, or we will feel justified in our suspicions of you and we will take action."

Rapunzel stared at her.

"We will be pursuing him ourselves, of course. But I hope you catch him first." Belle smiled softly, wishing her the best of luck, hoping that this was all some sort of misunderstanding.

Rapunzel felt queasy.

"And take it as a warning," Tiana said. "Personally, I'm convinced you're innocent. So watch out for him. Don't let him steal your identity too."

Rapunzel doubted she would ever breathe again.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen by the time she made it back to the pizzeria, and her already precarious mood had deteriorated as she walked.<p>

She had no idea what to do. Her muscles sung with tension that made her head pound as the same arguments chased each other through her mind.

She had to catch Flynn, but she couldn't catch Flynn, and that was fine with her because at least she prevented him from actually stealing things so he wasn't really doing any harm. Why did that have to change? Was it time for a change? Time to put a stop to this?

He had the league more scared than she'd ever seen them. Her heart swelled to think he'd done that in her name, even as she knew that it was foolish and crazy and had gotten them both into more trouble than they could reasonably deal with. She should probably be jealous and worried that he would steal her mini fridge – and she had been earlier – but the league had made her so angry that all that fear and worry directed itself at them.

How dare they come and try to derail her life? This was their fault in the first place. They should just get their act together.

And now she had to catch Flynn.

And she couldn't catch Flynn.

How had she let this get so far, so out of control? What was even happening to her life? How could she put it back together, forcing and kicking it back into a semblance of normalcy or piecing the shards together with painstaking precision?

She had no idea what to do.

"Rapunzel?" She looked up to find herself in the pizzeria with Eugene giving her a very concerned look, pausing as he loaded a pizza into a hot bag. Charlie had stopped what he was doing too and they both stared at her.

Eugene moved towards her slowly as if worried he would spook her. "You alright?"

She nodded, but it was shaky. Her whole body was shaking. Her stomach was knotted and she felt cold all over.

What was she going to do?

Before the sob she felt rising in her throat burst free, she was in Eugene's arms, clinging to the back of his shirt as he held her close, running a hand through her hair and whispering hushes. She buried her face in his chest and inhaled the familiar smell of pizza and cheap laundry detergent. He felt so warm, so soothing, the opposite of how she had felt in that conference room.

"Take her upstairs. Get her settled in," Charlie said, patting her back in the space between Eugene's arms. Eugene nodded, pressing his lips to the crown of her head before turning her to guide her up the stairs.

"It's alright, girlie," Charlie called. "I'm sure all baby showers are awful."

Eugene let her plop on the edge of her bed in her apartment, kneeling in front of her, resting his elbows on her knees. "You want to talk about what happened?"

She shook her head and turned away. Of course she didn't. She didn't know where to start.

His fingers brushed across her cheek, dragging her gaze back down to look into eyes so warm and perplexed and worried that she faltered.

Her lips parted, the words catching in her throat. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to rage at him for being stupid and then make him brainstorm solutions with her, make him help her sort through everything because he was the only one who understood. Or maybe he didn't, but looking into his eyes she was convinced that he did.

They were in this together. Despite their bitter differences, she held far more loyalty for him than she did for the league, than she did for anyone else in her life.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him.

Eugene seemed surprised at first, his breath catching before he gave in, just as he always did when she kissed him. His hands slipped to her hips, and he sat up on his knees as she pulled him closer.

Her kiss was urgent and demanding, coaxing him into showing the same level of affection, pulling and enticing as if she could drag the raw urges out of his chest and inhale them.

She slipped off the bed, as much into his lap as she could, to press herself tight against his chest and wrap and arm around his shoulders. His restraint cracked slightly as he held her close, his fingers melting into her sides to set her on fire, his kiss deepening as the angle changed.

And then her hands were twisting in the hem of his shirt, and she pulled away from him as much as she could let herself. Her breath came in pants, empty without his body pressed to hers, without his breathing reminding her how it was done. His hands held her in place until she could latch onto his bare chest and he could release her enough to pull his shirt off the rest of the way, grabbing it by the back of his collar and throwing it to the floor before drawing her up into a kiss again, fumbling to keep his glasses in place.

His skin was so warm, his heart pounding beneath her greedy palms as she mapped the contours of his chest, of his shoulders, as if she could leave her mark there and claim him as her own. And with every motion of her hands, every scrape of her nails across his back, he gave in just that much more.

She grappled with the zipper down the side of her dress, then sucked in her breath as Eugene took over for her, dragging it down with painful slowness that had her squirming against him. His hand slipped inside her dress, rough fingers brushing against her ribs, making her feel small and fragile, yet not weak.

She needed more and grabbed at the dress, pulling it over her head in a rush. Eugene had to pull his hand free and help tug at the fabric when she got an elbow caught in the sleeve and the netted skirt caught between their bodies. Her hair stood frazzled and on end, her cheeks flushed when her face appeared out of the tangle, and she huffed as she shoved it aside.

He laughed, a rumble that pulled her back against him to be closer to his joy. His hands ran to smooth her hair and cup her face, tilting her head back to press his lips to her neck. Closing her eyes, she reveled in his attention, her body gloriously relaxing and tensing simultaneously. His arms tightened around her with the wonderful sensation of skin on skin, and his mouth found that spot against her collarbone that made her toes curl, that spot that was so familiar against Flynn's tongue.

With her legs tight about Eugene's waist, he lifted her easily, depositing her on the bed, and she hooked her fingers through the belt loops on his pants to pull him on top of her, to cover her completely and wrap her in sensation.

Her thumb traced his jawline, rubbing deep circles in time with the movements of his mouth against hers and his hands against her skin and – her fingers bumped his glasses, which just wasn't going to work. And she was pushing him off and scrambling away and switching off the lights to plunge them into semi darkness.

Just the horizontal, orange lines from the streetlight through he slats in the blinds illuminated the room, outlining his shape, the curves of muscles in his arms, across his shoulders as he sat up in bed, probably looking confused. She had to feel her way back into his arms, which wasn't bad at all except that she had just decided that looking at his abs was one of life's joys.

He removed his glasses even before she reached for them, letting them clatter onto her bedside table as he enveloped her in another heated kiss.

His hesitations fell away with his glasses. Abandoning pretense or propriety or fear of displeasing her, he touched her and stroked her, rocking against her to build an ache in her stomach like burning timbers that threatened to collapse in on themselves in a violent storm of flames. He wanted her and he needed her, and unlike Flynn, he didn't care if she knew it. He didn't care if it made him vulnerable, because she would wrap her arms around him and protect him.

Unlike Flynn, he let affection mix with desire. He let his tongue linger to taste her. He held her as if she were beautiful and powerful and loved.

And maybe he wasn't even Eugene anymore, but some wonderful combination of the two, and for the first time she felt true honesty from him – honesty that pulled her in and had her gasping out little cries of want and elation.

And he was massaging her ass and she was kicking off her shoes and he was unhooking her bra and she was grappling with his belt. His hips shifted beneath her as he pulled down his pants, and she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, dazed at how good the motion felt. He caught the jeans before they were kicked away, sitting up to grab them, pulling her with him into his lap. Distractedly digging through his pockets, he swore between kisses, and she giggled until he'd found the crinkling packet he was after and pulled her back down with him, giving her his complete attention once more.

Her pants were harder to peel off, and she thought she might scream - she might whimper, she might laugh - as he fought with them, leaving kisses down the inside of her thigh, nuzzling against her to scrape his stubble against her skin.

Then she was free, her bare skin singing in the cool air, her legs wrapping around him. Her fingers pressed deep into the rolling muscles of his back, and he was teasing her, and she was flipping them to be on top again, to look down at him in the dark, to have him reach up for her.

She'd never made love before, and maybe it should have been more frightening, but Eugene was so careful with her, so gentle, so entirely distracting from all her fears. She had swept them up into a frenzy, and he carried them the rest of the way, just the two of them, just the bare essentials of their personalities without clothes or masks, just Rapunzel and Eugene and sweat and tangled limbs and the rhythm of her pulse in her ears and the pulse of their forms moving against one another that left her so blissfully dizzy, left her clinging to him as if she could squeeze him and all the growing, taunting pleasure inside her would explode.

"I love you," he rasped, his breath warm against her neck, setting her skin tingling until she thought she might burst from it, until her heart threatened to melt with a moan and burst into a million pieces.

His hand tightened in her hair, every fiber of his being tensing.

"Oh God, Blondie."

And she froze, her eyes snapping open as he collapsed, boneless and panting beneath her.


	5. Chapter 4

She ran faster than she had in months. She flew down the alleys and side streets, her breath beginning to strain, a crick knitting in her side. The glow of street lights slipped past, strobing in the dark, lighting her hair for a moment, illuminating Rider's form in front of her for a split second before he disappeared into darkness again.

The exercise and adrenaline felt calming after the past few desolate days. It brought a certain numbing clarity, and she pushed herself faster, her feet patting over the concrete.

Everyone was chasing Rider. The league was out, chasing him or keeping tabs on her, it was impossible to tell. Snow White's helicopter circled the area, buzzing over her head, sending the white beam of a spotlight down into the shadows between buildings. It was another obstacle to dodge, and the helicopter was sneaky, appearing for just a moment above the buildings with a loud whir and a flash of light, then disappearing again as it passed, as if it was never there, a phantom in the night.

Snow White first appeared a decade before, in the midst of the worst blizzard the city had seen. The white helicopter appeared out of nowhere, rescuing fishermen caught in the frozen ocean, flying despite the gale force winds and blinding snow. She could find anything.

Rapunzel could feel eyes in the dark watching her, following her. She could feel the league closing in.

But there was some other force out as well, something darker, something that kept Rider running, twisting through alleys. She could hear their running footsteps now and again, their surprised and pained noises as they clashed into trashcans or lost their prey. They'd gain on Rider, then fall back as they missed a turn or hit a dead end. Then they'd reappear, catching up again or sending in a new wave, she couldn't tell. She had no clue who they were – yet another group that Rider had pissed off.

Her usual dark nights of solitude were beginning to get crowded.

Rider hadn't even made it to the auction house. He was by the helicopter and made a sharp right, as if taking another route to the heist, but then something had spooked him and he'd made a complete about face. She'd thought he would circle, throw everyone off and come back an hour later, when they'd thought he'd given up. But now she thought differently. He'd decided it wasn't worth it and taken off.

That was odd for him. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as something chilled in her stomach.

She pushed the uncertainty down and focused on how smart she'd been to give chase rather than waiting for him at the auction house. She couldn't have sat still anyway.

Rider hadn't run this fast in a long time either. He hadn't made his route so circuitous, purposefully jumping locked fences and scaling hard-to-climb drainpipes. For the first time in a very long time, he was so concerned that he wasn't planning on letting Rapunzel catch him.

She glared, growling between clenched teeth as she chased him. She didn't care what he wanted or how fast he ran, she was going to catch him, and he was smart to be afraid of that.

She had avoided him for days out of embarrassment and heartbreak. She'd feigned sleep until he'd kissed the crown of her head, quietly pulled on his clothes, covered her with a comforter, and gone back to work.

She'd told Charlie that she was amazingly busy so she had an excuse to not stop by, so he wouldn't send coffee or pastries up to her apartment.

She'd held her breath and hugged herself when Eugene knocked on her door before he left in the mornings. When she didn't answer, he'd scribbled a note and taped it to her door. He said he was worried and hoped she was alright.

She could almost picture his face – sad, confused eyes and a clenched jaw. He probably had no idea what he'd done.

Idiot.

He deserved to have the tar beaten from him.

She ducked left as he swung onto a fire escape, making his way to the roof. Then she sped around, using her hair to help her swing through the sharp turns. Corner, corner, down a block, another corner. And there he was, landing just in front of her, and with another burst of speed she threw herself forward, knocking him to the ground before flipping back onto her feet. He rolled, coming up in a defensive crouch that broke when she flew at him again. Right kick, left jab, right hook. She had her hair in both hands, one strand like a lasso, grabbing at his blocking arms, one strand like a whip, blocking his escape. And he _was_ trying to escape, trying to circle her and run again. She hit him in the stomach, then again across his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

"Gah! Shit!"

He stumbled back as much as she would let him. And she kept attacking, punching and kicking and he backed up faster and faster, beginning to stumble over his own feet. His back hit the wall and he gaped at her.

"Blondie, what the hell? Are you trying to kill me?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, all her anger focused to a single point of rage in her chest, and it felt as though that hatred would burst out of her and hit him square in the forehead.

"Blondie!" she screamed, her fists shaking in anger at her sides. "Don't call me that! Don't you dare!"

She seethed, moving as if to hit him again with her hair, and he flinched back against the wall, one arm coming up to cover his face.

Angry, heartbroken tears prickled in her eyes. She hated her tears. She hated the ache that had taken root in her chest. Her lower lip and her arms had joined her fists in shaking, and she clung to the idea that those reactions rose from pure anger.

He panted, looking painfully, stupidly confused. "I thought you liked that!"

Ugg! Her body recoiled from him, her shoulders coming up to cover her ears as if she could protect herself from his disgusting, infuriating stupidity.

Her eyes squeezed closed as she screamed at him again. "You called me the wrong name! The _wrong name_, you stupid, stupid jerk!"

He stared at her, slowly letting his breath even out, letting his mind catch up with her words.

His eyes widened.

His face fell.

"Shit, Rapunzel. I'm sorry."

"I don't care if you're sorry," she snapped. "You're a cheater and I hate you."

"What?"

"You're cheating on me!"

"Sucking face with your alter ego does not count as cheating!"

She glared at him.

"You can't be serious."

Her glare intensified, her muscles straining, begging to hit him again.

He gaped at her, visibly struggling to find words until finally grabbing hold of something. "But- Then- How are you any better here?"

"Because I knew it was you the whole time!"

"And what am I, a moron? Come on! Give me some credit."

"Did you sleep with Mergirl too?"

"_What?_"

"You know where she lives. You were in her house. You pretended to be all nice and she let you in and you - and you - and then in the morning you stole her TV. Were you sad I didn't have anything worth taking?"

"What? Why would- You can't really think that."

She blinked to try to hold back the tears.

Rider's face softened in concern and pity until he looked too much like Eugene. "You can't really think that," he repeated, his voice too calming, too gentle. She hated his voice and the way it confused her, turned her around.

He reached to cup her face. "Oh, sweetheart."

She pulled away with a hiss, and her muscles snapped and she was attacking him again, striking out wildly and screaming and crying, and not caring about form as long as she hit him.

"Whoa!" He grabbed her wrists far too easily, holding them tight against his chest as she struggled to get away or push him or - or _anything_.

"Rapunzel! Listen to me."

"No!" she shouted. "You called me the wrong name! In bed!"

"It's still your name! Look, you were acting very Blondie-like and I slipped up. It was a stupid mistake. It's not worth getting this upset over."

"You like her more than me."

"Who?"

She didn't know what she was saying anymore. It was too much and as she squeezed her eyes closed, one of her tears broke free, rolling fat and hot and disloyal down her cheek, uncomfortable between her skin and her mask.

"Blondie," she whimpered. "You like her more."

For a moment there was silence. Then he shifted his hold on her, his hand finally finding her face when she didn't take the opportunity to punch him again.

"I like _you_," he said. "All of you. I don't care what you're wearing or what your hair color is. I'm in love with _you_."

It was exactly what she wanted to hear, something that would make her heart melt and make everything perfect, and yet all she could feel was hurt, as if her mind simply couldn't accept it. It couldn't possibly be true.

"How can I believe anything you say?"

He stiffened. His fingers stopped stroking her cheek, then fell away completely, and when he spoke again his words were so cold they made her shiver.

"I don't know. You just have to trust me."

She shifted uncomfortably, and it was his turn to glare.

"Great. Fantastic. I hope you sleep with lots of guys you don't trust. I'll make you a list of all the untrustworthy people I know. Have fun. And let me just say that I'm _so_ glad we're having this conversation _right now_."

"Flynn-"

"What? What do you want from me?"

"I- I don't know! It's so confusing and- and... I don't even know your real name!"

He groaned, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "It's _Eugene_!"

She blinked at him, more confused than ever. "You... Really?"

He groaned again.

It didn't make any sense. All her reasoning skills said that she had no reason to believe him, that a lie about his name was just as easy and expected as a lie about anything else. She told herself that she only wanted to kiss him now because they were fighting and that's what they did when they fought. She told herself that she'd be stupid to believe that he – that anyone – could love her. She told herself she was only hoping for his affection because her hormones were raging and he was skilled at seducing her and he looked so attractive even wearing his annoyed face.

She told herself all of this, but when he sighed and met her eyes again she had no idea what to think.

She was losing her mind.

Her fingers had spread over his chest, one of his hands still covering them, still holding them carefully despite all his aggravation with her. Slowly she eased closer, freezing like a frightened bunny when he tensed, pressing on with even more hesitancy when he didn't pull away, their eyes locked together, both filled with uncertainty. She leaned in to kiss him, feeling his breathing grow shallow under her palms, watching his eyelids grow heavy, lower, and -

Thunk.

His head jerked to the side as she gasped and pulled away. Then he blinked one, and reached up to pull out the dart that had implanted itself in his neck.

For a second they both stared at it.

"Oh hell," he muttered, and stumbled back against the wall.

Rapunzel spun to face their attackers, taking a defensive position in front of him as eight men in dark clothes with covered faces came running towards them from the end of the alley.

She set her jaw in determination and gripped her hair in both hands.

"Who are they?"

"They don't like me," he said slipping further down the wall behind her.

"No one likes you," she snapped, and then they were upon her.

She ducked under a swing from a police club, grabbing her attacker's feet with her hair and pulling him to the ground as her hair grabbed a second man around the waist and jerked so he slammed into a wall. Leaning back with an arch of her spine, she dodged a punch then landed her own blow that sent the man reeling.

She moved with a fluidity they couldn't seem to hit, side to side, dodging attack after attack while her hair spun around her, throwing them back, giving her space. She grabbed one man by the arm, twisting him into a lock then kicked him away, immediately turning to land an upper cut to the next man's chin, ducking a punch, then grabbing the foot of a spinning kick to flip the man so he landed hard, his back against the ground.

She kept them back for a time, thinning their numbers by knocking a few down, but by the time she got the later wave down the first thugs had popped up again. She launched herself, using one attacker as a springboard as he doubled over from a hit to the stomach, and kneed one man in the face. He fell with a crunch and didn't move, and she rolled to the side to keep up the battle. The men didn't even pause to help their fallen comrade.

"We have to get out of here," she shouted, grabbing one man's wrist as he came at her, diverting his blow at the last minute and sweeping him off his feet.

"Yeah," Eugene said, trying to push himself up the wall and failing. It looked as though he'd lost all movement in his left side. "I told you it wasn't the best time."

One attacker tried distracting her in one direction, while another circled the other way to get to Eugene. She punched the first in the face, then whipped her hair around the ankles of the one heading toward Eugene and yanked him backwards, off his feet, his fingers clawing at the asphalt.

Eugene's legs gave out and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. He groaned, not even attempting to get up, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Then they came at her two at a time while two went for Eugene, and she barely managed to push them back, one of them landing a glancing blow to her face.

Then they dog piled her, and she switched tactics, sending spinning loops of hair in all directions, her hands moving so fast it was hard to follow. Her hair grabbed them by the wrists, by the forearm, by the leg or around their waists or any combination of limbs she could manage, and with a yank, she jerked them back over drainpipes and against barred windows, tying them in place so they couldn't move, lifting them off the ground where they flailed against their binds. She was a spider in the middle of a great web, and she worked, tossing loop after loop even as she began to run out of hair, securing her attackers as they loosened their bonds, throwing knots left and right and yanking to tighten her hair until they choked, squeezed against a wall.

And still it was impossible to get them all. With her hair like that, she was trapped herself, unable to move more than three feet in any direction without being pulled by the bonds of one of her captives. And, little by little, her captives were slipping free. One pulled a knife and cut himself loose. Her hair grew back immediately, throwing him back to tie him to a trashcan, but that had given the others the idea, and they were all breaking free and running at her, and she just couldn't stop them all.

One hit her in the ribs and she was knocked down, unable to fall all the way to the ground as her hair caught her, still knotted to a fire escape even though that prisoner had long since broke loose.

Two of them grabbed Eugene's limp form, one taking his shoulders, the other grabbing his feet, and she couldn't get to him. She hit the one carrying his shoulders with her hair, causing them to drop him, but the maneuver cost her as in her distraction, the men attacking her directly hit her twice then grabbed her arm and spun her until she was locked in her own hair and even her arms couldn't move.

They grabbed Eugene again easily, dragging him away like a rag doll, taking him further and further from her reach, from her protection.

Somewhere overhead, the helicopter roared, so close and yet unable to see them. Even if the league came and saved her, they might just make things worse. They'd take Eugene away too. She was alone in a sea of adversaries.

Adversaries and hair. She struggled to untangle herself as a van burst into the alley, its headlights illuminating the scene and causing her to flinch away from the light. All the thugs had escaped their bonds. They piled into the van, loading Eugene like luggage, tossing him so he flopped lifelessly to the floor.

With a scream of aggravation and pain, she retracted her hair far faster than she should, yanking through all the knots, unraveling the mess until she was free, until she crouched in the center of a fan of limp and tangled hair, the ends jagged and snarled.

With a practiced movement of her hand, she swept the hair in front of her to the side so she could see once more, revealing her face, contorted in a snarl. She pushed herself to her feet, bolting towards Eugene as the van pulled away, moving before the thugs had even pulled the back doors closed.

She ran faster, grabbing her hair and throwing it to latch onto the van's bumper before it reached its full speed. The tress flew with less grace, less accuracy than usual, caught and snared on itself, little stray hairs sticking out then rejoining the main cord instead of forming a neat and contained rope. But it caught. It held. And she swerved to run along the side of the alley, briefly running up a wall and kicking the lid off a trashcan, landing on top of it with a clank, grabbing her hair as the van gained speed, and surfing along behind it with a sharp grating of metal on rough concrete and a shower of sparks.

The van pulled into the street at the end of the alley, making a sharp turn that had Rapunzel swinging up onto the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. She jumped the curb and pulled quickly at her hair, shortening the rope enough that she narrowly avoided smashing against a storefront. The van fishtailed before straightening, the open doors in the back swinging back and forth, and Rapunzel pulled, setting her jaw against the strain in her arms, dragging herself closer and closer to the van.

The men in the back shouted to the driver, who swerved, sending Rapunzel skidding out into oncoming traffic. With a flash of headlights and the blare of a horn, she yanked her hair to avoid one car, leaned to one side to drag against the side of another, then dropped nearly four feet of slack to avoid another car that had slammed on its breaks. She threw the rope of hair over the top of the car, and skidded around it before weaving her way back through traffic, back behind the van.

She pulled herself forward again, and she could just make out Eugene's leg, sprawled on the floor of the van. The thugs shouted more instructions to the driver, who slammed on his breaks and sent Rapunzel flying forward. She jumped, careened into the back of the van, and smashed head first into one of the thugs, sending her trashcan lid sailing straight into another's chest.

The back of the van filled with wild punches in the dark, people tripping over her hair, her kicks hitting indiscriminately in the small, crowded space. Hands pulled at her and hits landed on ever part of her body, yet they seemed just as disoriented as she was, and she fought on. At some point in the scuffle, she was pretty sure she stepped on Eugene. At some point she bit into someone's arm and they screamed a curse and fell back, giving her enough room to kick at the next shadowy figure.

Someone grabbed her, or maybe it was two or three people. They hauled her towards the back door as the van sped up again. She struggled, kneeing someone before they tightened their grip on her and tossed her awkwardly out the back of the van.

She grabbed the back door as she fell, her fingers slipping against its edge as she pulled and swung back and up and onto the roof. For a moment she stood there, her hair flying out behind her as she found her balance on shaking feet that slipping slightly as the van ran a red light.

She skipped forward towards the driver, but despite the lightness of her feet, they still thumped and rumbled against the van's roof, the metal denting under her weight and popping flat again behind her. She had just enough time to look down and note that that was not a good thing before a bullet burst through the roof, flying past her face.

She fell backwards with an undignified squeak and another rumble from the roof. A second bullet flew at her and she slipped precariously towards one side of the van before catching herself.

Great. The driver had a gun.

That would make it much more difficult to fly in through the window and kick him in the face before taking control of the van. That and how windows are harder to break than most people thought. And how she didn't know how to drive.

She didn't have a chance anyway. The van swerved, jerking back and forth, between cars and across lanes, sending her body sliding across the roof with nothing to grab onto. Her sweaty palms pressed tight to the van's slick paint job, but couldn't keep her in place as the van accelerated.

A sharp pull to the right and the van slipped right out from under her, sending her flying and tumbling into the street.

She hit with a thump and rolled, asphalt biting into her face, burning scrapes running down her arms, one of her knees twisting awkwardly. She came to a stop, tucked in on herself and spread across the yellow dividing line, and looked up with blazing eyes, pushing herself onto an elbow, spitting out gravel, and wiping blood from her lip.

The van screeched as it turned the next corner, and for a half second before it sped away, the text on the side of the van shone in the streetlights.

_High Tower Laboratories_.

Rapunzel thought she might be sick. Right in the middle of the street. Without getting up. Without even shifting her hair out of the way, because her muscles and her mind had frozen in horror and all she could see was the High Tower logo on the metal bracelet on her pale wrist, printed on the packets of food she ate, inverted on the plexiglass window of her room.

They'd strapped her to an operating table and injected her with liquids that burned through her veins in such agony that she pulled muscles in her sides and throat from screaming. They'd left her alone for days, with only the company of a teddy bear, a stuffed sheep, and a second-hand, pink plastic tea set, while they watched her careful actions through a two-way mirror.

They'd tortured her for years, experimenting and documenting. They stole her whole life and denied her humanity.

And now they had Eugene.

A car horn pulled her back into the moment and she rolled out of the way just in time, finding her feet and pushing herself out of the street, back into the dark as the helicopter passed over once more.

She was moving before she even thought it through, too dazed and numb to process her actions, her heart clenching with fear. One foot placed steadily in front of the other, as if she were drawn there by a magnet, by a string she could never sever, she traveled through the winding back streets towards High Tower.

Going back was crazy, and he mind rebelled, shutting down, showing her flashes, faces, memories, all the reasons to stay away that had her shivering in her own sweat.

They'd put needles in her arms and poison in her veins that made her feel stretched or mindless or invisible, stuff that made her crazed and ill. They'd given her tests to find the extent of powers – how many strings of numbers could she remember, how much blood could she lose, how long could she go without sleep, how strong was she, how strong was she when terrified.

Some people were born with super powers, others were granted theirs by accident. And others were made, experiment after experiment, human trial after human trial. All to create the perfect soldier, the perfect weapon.

They would do all that to Eugene. In her fear she was so certain.

She had to go for him.

She couldn't let him be tortured.

She couldn't let him become a failed experiment like her.

_She's dead and can't hurt you anymore. _ Her whispered words surprised her as she hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud, trying to calm herself, trying to stop her hands from shaking. For the first time she looked around, noticed where she was and realized where she was headed, what she was doing.

If she did this the league would know. They wouldn't see it as a victim desperately trying to protect others from her fate. They'd see it as a clear signifier of her inevitable betrayal. Saving Rider would shift her banner from the side of good. It would make her an outcast. She would be hunted. And the league knew where she lived.

The dark alley stayed still around her, undisturbed by her internal debate. She clasped her hands together and kept moving.

High Tower looked the same. It sat quiet and unassuming across a short, manicured lawn. Its walls curved artfully, sweeping in and then out at an angle from the ground so the higher stories leaned over the grass. The white floodlights were reflected in in the dark blue glass of the front facade.

It shouldn't have looked frightening. It shouldn't have seemed to tense in the stillness of the night as if it were about to leap forward and consume her, ripping into her with great, glass fangs. No one else would feel the dread eating away at their stomach as they looked at the building.

Rapunzel had only seen it from the outside a few times. First when she escaped, then in photographs in the newspaper. It had looked like a cheery nod to modern architecture in those instances as well. They'd kept her captive for years and no one suspected from the outside. From this angle, no one could hear the screams of tortured souls imprisoned within.

She pressed her lips together, set her shoulders back with her head held high, and walked forward.

The doors in High Tower were never locked.

The glass front doors slid open automatically before her with a soft whir and the stomp of her heavy boots against the tile. The security guard, seated at a curved desk on the other side of the lobby, gaped at her a moment, then glared and snarled and rose to his feet, drawing his gun. A knot of hair wrapped around his wrist, jerking his arm to the side, sending a bullet flying past her head, missing her by inches as she ran forward, leapt over the desk and slammed her elbow into his face. He hit the ground with her above him, blood spluttering from his nose as he cried out and coughed, clutching at his nose. The gun fell from his hand and skittered across the floor as his hands were bound with a flick and hauled over his head, away from his injury.

She pressed a boot against his chest and leaned forward, her face a frighting mask of dangerous, rage induced loathing as she growled down at him.

"Where is he?"

"I don't-"

"_Where is he?_" She pressed harder against his chest, pulling at her hair to make his arms stretch painfully. "The man they just brought in. Where did they take him?"

"The- the-" He coughed with a splatter of blood, which only made her hate him more. "The East wing," he gasped. "Third- third floor."

She dropped her hold on his arms and he whimpered before she slammed his head against the tile, knocking him out cold.

She reached under the desk and yanked out all the power cords for the security system. The little black and white televisions lined up across the desk fizzled and went blank. It wouldn't save her from being spotted forever, but if they wanted to use the system they would have to reboot it and that would take a few minutes.

She didn't know the exact layout of the building, but she had a basic idea and knew which way was east. She hurried down to the row of elevators and was glad that when she pushed the button, one of them was already there, its doors opening smoothly with a happy ding, again as if there was nothing at all wrong, as if she hadn't just broken a man's nose.

The ride up was short but tense. She didn't like being in such a confined area and kept expecting the elevator to jerk to a stop then fill with gas.

She adjusted her grip on her hair and slipped to one side so she was out of sight when the doors opened on the third floor. No one strolled in, and she peeked into the hallway to find it empty, then she slipped out just as the doors closed, bumping slightly against her back.

The halls were lit for the night with slightly less intensity than in the day. All the side rooms were dark – offices whose workers had gone home for the night, or labs whose occupants slept. She found herself peering into the rooms through the windows (this time with the High Tower logo printed the correct direction), looking for signs of prisoners, of experiments that shuddered under their covers or would leap out of the darkness to press snarling faces against the glass. The rooms were too dark and what she could see only brought further flares of panic.

She pushed on, through the empty hallways and through the double doors that marked the east wing. Her mind spun and her breath grew more shallow and the hallway seemed to stretch and twist before her, but she kept moving. She was silent as a ghost and shocked that no one had found her yet. It would happen at any moment.

It was like a nightmare.

Voices echoed down the hall, two of them, sounding irritated and tired. She ducked around a corner as they approached, sneaking the quickest peek to see they were two of the men she had fought in the alley and in the van. One growled and pushed back his hood, pulling at his dark scarf to loosen it from his nose and mouth.

He took a single unhindered breath before Rapunzel grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him down, smashing her knee into his uncovered face. The second man started to shout - in surprise or for help she'd never know because his voice died with a single punch to the side of the head.

She stood over their collapsed forms. They weren't so tough when they weren't in a group.

And she was close now, she could feel it. They must have brought Eugene in. There wasn't any point in trying to hide their bodies, so she moved on, pushed forward by this small victory with more clarity and determination than she'd felt before.

She rounded a corner as the overhead lights flickered, and she paused, tensing, thinking it was the alarm system. But there were no sirens, no flashes of red light, nothing like when she was last in these hallways.

A moment later the flicker died and she pushed on, anxious for some sign of Eugene, almost hoping to come across more thugs to mark the way to where they were keeping him.

As she entered the next hall, the lights flickered again, but this time they were accompanied by a buzz and a burst of wild blue light from one of the side rooms. She rushed forward, nearly sliding into the door to look through the window.

And there was Eugene, strapped to a table, his eyes squeezed closed, screaming with pain she couldn't hear as huge, blue bolts of electricity assaulted his body from all sides. They lit the room with a rolling blue light, and rather than short bursts like lightning, they held in a kind of suspended stability, each tendril twisting slowly as his body twitched, flickering the occasional new branch with a short burst of sparks. The muscles in his arms tensed and pulled against his restraints, his sweat beading against his skin before hissing and evaporating.

She looked down at the door handle and clenched her jaw.

The doors in High Tower were never locked.

They would just shock you if you tried to open them without the proper authentication. They conditioned her that way to never try to open doors.

But she couldn't go to Eugene yet anyway. If she was in there with him, she'd just be electrocuted as well.

Her eyes swept over the room, landing on the two way glass, and she pulled herself away from the sight before her to slip to the next room. As observation room, it was not meant to keep anyone inside, so when she reached out with a shaky hand, the door opened with ease. In the crackling buzz from the speakers piping in sound from Eugene's room, no one noticed Rapunzel's presence.

There were two more of the thugs inside, their arms folded across their chests as they shifted uncomfortably, apparently unwilling to watch Eugene's torture. A woman in a white lab coat stood before an array of buttons and knobs. She did not have the thug's qualms and stared at Eugene with narrowed eyes and pursed, frowning lips. She was sickly thin, her graying skin sagging from her bones. Rapunzel recognized her as one of the doctors and it took all her strength not to scream, vomit, and crumple into a sobbing ball in the hallway.

With a turn of a single, fat knob, the electricity died in the other room. In the relative silence, she could hear Eugene's heavy breathing, amplified and staticy through the intercom.

The doctor flicked a switch and leaned forward to speak into a microphone, her voice high and harsh. "Where did you put it, Rider? I want that ruby."

He just breathed, in and out, a twitching shudder working its way into the sound. Rapunzel felt her heart break and wondered if he was even capable of forming words.

"I paid you to steal a ruby, and I expect you to deliver the goods."

Eugene's words came out haggard and panting. "That's what you get... for paying in advance, Yzma... Live and learn, huh?"

Yzma scowled, then flipped off her side of the intercom and cranked up the fat dial again with a viscous twist of her wrist, as if she were wringing Eugene's neck.

He made another horrible noise as the lights flared. This time it lasted only a few seconds before the doctor was interrogating him again.

"Where are you keeping it?"

Eugene gasped. "You think... I still have it? … I sold it... ages ago."

"Lies!"

"Got a fortune for it too."

"No. You still have it. You're holding out for more money."

"Got all the money... I need... I was gonna... skip town... with my girlfriend... and get a dog."

With an aggravated scream that buzzed between her clenched teeth and sent droplets of spit flying, the doctor snatched the microphone out of its holder and squeezed it as she shouted. "I will rewrite your genetic code and turn you into a hedgehog and then crush you with a shovel! I will chain you to a pile of bricks and drop you in the ocean! I will poison you slowly and then stab you in the face! I will give you a puppy and then eat it in front of you!"

Eugene's wheezing laughter could just barely be heard under her screaming, and she grabbed the knob again and once more the room was flooded with shifting light and Eugene's pained gurgling. The lights in the hallway flickered more violently than previous attacks, the brightness of the electric bolts more intense.

After far too long, the doctor shut it down and glared, crossing her arms angrily over her chest.

One of the thugs shifted. "He's blacked out."

"I see that," she snapped. "Go revive him."

Rapunzel held her breath, tensing in her crouch as the thugs grumbled and headed toward the door. A moment before they would notice her, she popped up, throwing the door open and using her hold on the handle to push herself up even faster. Her fist connected just under the first man's jaw, knocking him back off his feet so she could kick at the second man. They both stumbled back in confusion, then fell into more aggressive stances.

She'd lost the element of surprise, but she narrowed her eyes and snatched up two handfuls of hair, twirling them slowly in front of her. The doctor screamed in the background, asking who she was and how she got there, yelling at the thugs to stop her.

The man on the left pounced, and Rapunzel snapped her hair, knocking his feet out from under him a moment before his hands grabbed her shoulders. He fell to the floor so hard she could practically hear the shudder of his jaw as it connected with the floor. She turned, blocking two punches and a kick from the man on the right with spinning whips of hair that lashed out in front of her. She ducked another blow, then threw one of her own at his stomach. The man on the left came at her again, but with another yank of her hair, he fell back again, rolling almost to the doctor's feet, causing the old woman to shuffle back on her tiptoes to get away.

The man on the right lunged at her, and she twirled to avoid him, kicking him in the back and sending him head first into a filing cabinet with a crash that echoed through the small, dark room. She let the last man get close to her before stopping him short as her hair snapped around his torso in a thick rope, locking his hands to his sides. Before he could make a noise she stepped forward and headbutted him, releasing the hold of her hair so he could collapse to the floor.

Then she turned on Yzma.

The doctor recoiled against the desk, one bony arm coming up to cover her face. Her eyes bulged out of fear, her mouth turned down so that her skin both stretched and sagged.

Rapunzel seethed and stalked forward, shoulders tensed, her hands tight and twisting in her hair. The woman slipped further along the bench, trying to get away until she bumped into the wall and could go no further.

Then she stilled. She blinked in recognition, her spidery eyelashes flickering.

"Pascal?" she asked.

Rapunzel hesitated, the word hitting her with physical force.

The doctor's face split into a huge, false smile that only made her fear look more manic. "Pascal!" She threw out her arms as if for an embrace, as if to say, _Well there you are! Ta dah!_ "You're back! Look at you. You've gotten taller." She clasped her hands together in front of her chest and grinned in a mockery of pride, fluttering her eyelashes.

Rapunzel's stomach rebelled, and she only kept it in check by shooting out a hand, grabbing the doctor by the throat, lifting her off the ground. Yzma's smile disappeared, her thin hands clutching Rapunzel's wrist.

She'd been here before, holding a cruel doctor's life in her hands in a darkened room in High Tower. Yzma seemed to recognize the situation as well.

Rapunzel's hands shook, the world spinning beneath her feet. Her breath came in long, shallow pants stressed by more exhaustion than she thought humanly bearable.

"Don't speak to me," she said, and she was shocked at the sharpness in her voice, how little it quavered, how little it broke. "Don't touch me or cross me or look for me. Don't you lay another finger on Flynn Rider. If you touch him – if you come near us - if I ever lay eyes on you or anyone from High Tower again, it will be the last thing you _ever_ do."

The woman nodded as much as she could, then gasped as she was released, a gasp that cut off abruptly into a short squeak as Rapunzel twisted her around and locked her to a filing cabinet. The woman huddled in on herself, cradling her arms to her chest as if they were bruised, trying to look small, helpless, pitiable.

The woman feared her. Someone who had caused her pain, who'd treated her like a child or an animal, like nothing more than a poorly performing test subject, someone who had made her so terrified as a child that she went for weeks without speaking, was now looking up at her with a look that could very well have graced Rapunzel's face a decade before. She had no idea if this was justice or a tragedy, and she both comforted and sickened herself by noting that the doctor would live.

She flew to the next room before she had to look at the doctor another moment, before she burst into a fit of rage and ripped off the doctor's sunken face or fell to the floor weeping. She had to save Eugene.

She kicked the door open and the rubber soles of her boots stifled the electric shock.

He lay slumped on the table, looking absolutely awful with bags under his eyes and his hair standing on end, and it took her several moments to quiet her own pumping heartbeat before she could find his pulse or confirm that he was breathing.

"Rider? Rider, look at me. Come on, baby, wake up." She patted his cheek frantically and kept doing so even as he groaned and moved his head.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, checking frantically over her shoulder towards the hallway where the sound of shouting was drawing closer.

"Come on, Rider. We have to go."

"'Punzel?" he mumbled, his words slurred, his eyes closed. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there. Can you walk?"

"Mrphf. No. My legs won't move."

"They're still strapped down."

"Hmm. Makes sense then."

As the commotion in the hallway grew louder without any sign from Eugene that he could open his eyes, much less stand, Rapunzel kicked the breaks off the operating table and pressed all her weight against it until it started rolling, slowly gaining speed towards the door. The turn into the hallway was not done with grace and the side of the table slammed and scraped against the far wall, causing Eugene to groan.

And then she was running just to keep up with the momentum of the table, moving far faster than she should have considering the sharp turns that dropped into their path. Shouts came from behind, from ahead, and it wasn't long before they swerved around a corner and came face to face with three thugs. Their eyes widened briefly, one took a breath in preparation for a shout, and Rapunzel threw herself over Eugene, barreling through them with the heavy table like bowling pins, before slipping down again to run behind the table once more. She stepped on one of the thugs as she did, then threw herself to one side and fishtailed the table into the next hallway on the left, kicking off the wall to get it moving in the right direction.

They were in front of the elevators then, the elevators and four armed security guards who did not look happy.

She ducked her head as the first bullet flew, running faster until she sent the table and Eugene slamming into one of the guards, pulling him down under the table, which immediately crashed into the wall and toppled to one side. She spun in a crouch and caught one guard by the arm, twisting to put the man between her and the next guard, who leveled a gun at her and shot. The guard in her arms jumped and gurgled, and Rapunzel snapped her hair around the third man before pushing her human shield into the shooter, aiming a punch at the face of the third attacker, of the last man standing.

She slammed the button for the elevator, kicked one of the men on the floor so he wouldn't get up, then dropped to kneel next to Eugene. He was still strapped to the table, which had landed on one of the guards. One of his eyes opened to glare at her, but she could tell his headache was too painful for him to really mean it.

"Not. Cool."

"You make a good battering ram," she said, grappling with the belts that held him in place until he slumped to the floor with another groan.

The elevator dinged and she hauled him to his feet, throwing one of his arms over her shoulders. "Almost there."

She heaved his stumbling body into the elevator, feeling the ragged movement of his chest against her shoulder as he breathed. They began to descend and she bit her lip, knowing that a hundred security guards would be waiting for them in the lobby. She had no idea how she would fight through them while keeping Eugene on his feet.

The lights went out, then pulsed red, the painful, wailing alarm thrumming in her ears. Eugene flinched back against the noise, but Rapunzel was overcome with uncontrollable tremors. It was so much like last time that she almost threw Eugene's arm off her shoulders to get away from the contact.

The elevator jerked and stopped and she used it as an excuse the prop him against the corner, to take a breath and feel less confined, to occupy herself by prying open the elevator doors.

They hadn't gone far, about three feet of the ceiling of the second floor was visible at the bottom of the elevator door. It'd be a five foot drop, but that seemed like nothing. Anything to get out of that tiny elevator where the alarm seemed to box her in, to imprison her.

"This way," she said, and she was surprised to find Eugene already kneeling next to her, looking haggard but still sliding out of the elevator and dropping to the floor. He reached to help her down, but she gave him a look and ignored his offer. They moved down the next hallway at a much faster clip. Maybe the adrenaline was kinking into his system.

Two unoccupied hallways later, with the red, pulsing light burning into her eyes until she thought she might never see properly again, they found a stairwell, and she kicked it open, unsurprised to find it electrocuted.

Eugene balked, then balked again when he realized how hard it was to climb stairs.

"Almost there."

"You already said that and it wasn't true."

"That makes us both great big liars." Her hand fisted in the back of his shirt as he slipped a step, catching himself on the hand rail, his fingers digging into her shoulder.

"I resent that," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They burst through the emergency door on the ground level, stumbling out into the night. The alarm was cut off as the door eased shut behind them, plunging them into silence so thick she thought she might have gone deaf.

And, with the clear night air welcoming her home, she suddenly found it hard to breathe. It was over and she was free again and suddenly she was shaking harder than ever. It was too much stress in too short a time and she'd been outrunning it for the past several hours, but now that she had come to a halt, it all caught up and crashed down on her.

Eugene's arm tightened around her, almost like a hug, and he guided her forward across the grass lawn, across that last stretch of dangerous, open ground.

Nearly to the safety of the shadowed streets, something bit into her shoulder and she stumbled. Then she jerked out the dart embedded in her flesh.

The sky turned darker, her legs wobbling and heavy beneath her, her mouth full of cotton. The world lurched beneath her and she realized several seconds later that Eugene had swept her off the ground. He pulled out a gun she didn't know he had grabbed, and in a dazed, disconnected way she heard Yzma scream to not let them get away. She heard shots rip through the air.

She lost consciousness focused on Eugene's clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

* * *

><p>Rapunzel woke slowly, all the aches and strain in her body coming to light before she could question where she was.<p>

She'd slept in her suit, which felt stiff against her skin, pressing unattractive wrinkles into her arms and the back of her knees. He mask bit into her temple, distorted slightly by her head pressed against her pillow. Although it was still firmly in place, it felt now as if it didn't quite fit, like her face had changed shape in her sleep. Her hair was short and probably blonde as she had no memory of changing it. All the grime and dirt, the sweat and ick of her adventures had accumulated against her scalp as her hair retracted in her sleep.

She needed clothes that were less stale and a shower with a great deal of scrubbing. She needed to let her skin and her whole body and mind breathe. She knew that most of the stiffness and achiness she felt wasn't from sleeping in her suit. An aspirin would help that. An aspirin and another twenty minutes of sleep. She snuggled deeper into her pillow and further beneath the warm blanket.

Blanket?

In High Tower, blankets were rewards for good behavior, and she had not demonstrated good behavior.

In High Tower, the sheets felt stiff with bleach and disinfectant and never smelled this good. These smelled like cheap laundry detergent. Like Eugene.

Eugene!

Her eyes snapped open and there he was, lying next to her, watching her, holding very still and contemplating her face with one arm around her waist and one arm propping up his head.

"Hey." His voice was warm and soft, gentle like a lullaby. And her heart was pounding from the fear for their safety that had just flared inside her, or from the relief that they were safe, or from the absolute perfection of waking up in his arms.

She didn't know what to do with it all. Throwing her arms around him and crying seemed a good idea, but she held it in.

"You're watching me sleep?"

"No. That would be creepy."

"Then what are you doing?"

"I was thinking." He reached up to run a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. "I like being able to see your freckles."

She stared at him a moment, searching his face for something teasing, for some glimmer of smug victory as he watched her take off her mask in front of him. But there was nothing. He hadn't taken it off for her even though he had removed her heavy boots, even though he knew what lay underneath.

Hesitantly, she reached for her face, pausing for a long breath before she peeled the mask free, leaving her skin feeling cold and clammy.

He smiled slightly, his fingers moving to breathe life back into her cheeks with the faintest of touches.

"There they are."

She dropped her eyes in sudden shyness. "Can you see them without your glasses?"

He laughed, the mattress trembling as he did. "They're just reading glasses. They barely have a prescription."

"Ah."

His hand snuck up her spine to stretch across her back, pulling her closer, and he ducked his head to press his forehead to hers. For a moment they stayed like that as she tried to control her breathing. Was she still shaking, or had those started up again since she woke?

He pulled back a bit, tracing his fingers over her face, as if committing her form to memory.

"Does your hair change other colors, or just blonde and brown?"

She thought about saying no, keeping the very last of her secrets, but the thought was swept away almost immediately. She took a breath, and on releasing it her hair changed, color shimmering out from the roots. A deep, faceted red washed through the blonde. It held a moment, then shifted to an inky black like paint spreading from a spill. Then it eased into the palest of sun bleached blonde.

He watched her wordlessly, then grinned and scooted slightly closer in interest. "Can you make it blue?"

She laughed and shook her head, her nose brushing his, her short hair beating against her cheek.

"What color is it naturally?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "What's natural?"

He thought on that a moment, his fingers finding their way back to her hair. He probably shouldn't touch it too much, but he didn't comment on its grossness.

"Which is your favorite?"

Again she thought about lying.

She lowered her eyes, hoping that he wouldn't be too disappointed. "The brown."

His hands wrapped tighter, more securely around her back.

"Did I ever tell you I have a thing for brunettes?"

She thought she might melt, and when her arms eased around his shoulders and her body molded flush against his, she almost thought she had. She was tired and dizzy, and safe and warm, and he was looking at her with such raw emotion. His hands sent shivers through her skin like the air before a lightning strike.

Or maybe she was just shaking anyway. Maybe he was still covered in static.

She couldn't believe this was real. That they had survived. Maybe they hadn't. Maybe this was some horrible dream or hallucination and she would wake back in her cold, narrow bed in High Tower.

Her hands trailed over his back and shoulders, trying to soak in the warmth of him, to convince herself he was real and solid and alive. A hand ran through his hair that still stuck up in odd ways, then down to cup his cheek, and she looked into his eyes which seemed relieved despite the dark shadows that surrounded them.

He pressed a kiss gently to the palm of her hand, his eyes closing in reverence. Then looked up at her and smirked. A full on, obnoxious, Flynn Rider smirk.

"You rescued me."

She bristled out of instinct, her eyes narrowing and shoulders tensing. "I did not."

"Preeeetty sure you did. That's what it's called when you throw yourself into harm's way to keep someone safe."

"I stopped a criminal organization from kidnapping and imprisoning one of Corona's citizens. It's my job to do that sort of thing."

"A citizen who really ought to be imprisoned."

"I can make that happen," she threatened.

"Uh huh."

"I can."

"Then why didn't you leave me there?"

"Because..." Finally he voice broke. "Because no one deserves that."

His cocky attitude fell away and she realized he had only put it on to draw her out, to change the mood. But then again, maybe he did it for his own benefit too. It was replaced with something like unease, like he was afraid for her. "You've been there before," he said slowly.

She nodded, ducking her head to avoid his eyes.

And then she was talking, saying things that had gone silent for so long, things covered in cobwebs that flinched in the light of day.

"They called it the Pascal project. Trying to make people invisible. I guess for spying. They tried for years. All sorts of tests. When that didn't work they switched to making me blend. Match a background. Change what I looked like. That never worked the way they wanted either. They didn't like how much I failed – how much they failed.

"I think there were other projects too. Super strength, agility, intelligence. Sometimes I'd hear the doctors talk about them. Just little snippets. I guess that means there were others like me, but when I broke out, when I tried to rescue them..." She shook her head to shake away the sounds of their cries.

Eugene moved to pull her tight, and she could feel his nervousness, his shock in the tension of his arms. He ran a soothing hand through her hair, then thought better of it and shifted to rub her back.

"And you came back for me," he murmured, more marveling to himself than speaking to her.

She shrugged. Of course she had. She'd never seen it as a choice.

Then she sniffed, because if he could change the mood and be a jerk than she could too. "And anyway, no one else is allowed to take you down. I'm going to do it. It'd be unfair after all the trouble you've caused me. All the work I've put into chasing you and stopping you and wearing you down."

"You think you're wearing me down?" She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I know I am."

"No. That's not it. If anything it's the other way around and I think it's time you admitted that you're crazy about me."

"I'm crazy because of you."

He pulled back, his eyes lit with tired good humor. "And I'm crazy because of you! We're quite the pair."

She rolled her eyes.

"No really," he said. "Do you know how many crazy things I've done since meeting you?"

"Do you want me to count?"

"You can't. There are too many. You see? It's crazy."

She huffed and changed the subject. "Where are we?"

"My apartment."

Her eyes snapped back to his face and he shrugged at her shock, making a vague gesture with his hand for her to look around.

She just kept staring. "The one in Heron Park?"

He pulled back in surprise, then narrowed his eyes, saying slowly, "Cliffside, actually."

She beamed for the first time in days. Cliffside was basically Heron Park. They were right next to each other and Cliffside was so small that it didn't really count.

"I was right! I was so close! And now I've found it!"

Eugene continued to look uncertain and suspicious. "You _found_ it? No, I brought you here."

She ignored him and looked around excitedly.

His apartment was nice. It was neat and sparse with bright white walls and pale hardwood floors just coming into focus in the gray morning light. His bedroom was slightly smaller than her studio, and she could see through the door that as a whole it was much larger. A black and white poster of the skyline hung above the head of his bed in a simple black frame.

All in all it felt a bit too nice. As though it had been designed. As though it wasn't lived in.

"Is this where you keep your stash?" She had an urge to go dig around in his closet in hopes of finding treasure, but her fatigue and the firm hand wrapped around her back kept her in place.

"My what?"

"All the things you steal."

"You think I keep them here? Just leave them lying around for the hell of it?"

"Not lying around. I'm sure you hide them somewhere."

He let out a deep breath as if picking his words carefully. "Not that I've managed to steal anything at all lately-"

She gave him a smug grin.

"- but I sell whatever I get as soon as I can. What would I do with diamond earrings? No." He put his hand over her lips as she opened her mouth. "Don't answer that. And you're acting a bit too excited about being here. You're going to give me a complex, thinking you're just after the goods."

"I've been trying to find this place for months. And now I'm here!" She didn't mention how he'd already given her a complex and it would really only be fair.

"You could have just asked."

"That's no fun."

"It'd be a lot of fun. And how is it more fun to be dragged here unconscious?"

"If I'd have asked, it would be like giving up and you would have won. But since you brought me here because you were out of options, that means I won."

He stared at her, his eyebrows furrowing as he blinked several times to try to make what she said make sense. "_Winning?_"

"Uh huh."

She sat up to get a better look around.

"I _was_ out of options, you know. The Sorority of Thigh-high Hooker Boots knows where you live and they're probably there waiting for you."

She didn't want to think about that.

Damn it, if she couldn't go home, she couldn't change clothes.

Her shoulders slumped. Was she on the run from the league now? Could she live a normal life again or would she have to leave the city and change her name? Could she still fight crime or had she forced herself into early retirement?

Eugene cut through her thoughts. "You still don't trust me."

It wasn't a question of an exclamation. It was a statement of fact tinted with fatigue and hurt.

She turned to look down at him. He was frowning, his eyes on the bedsheets.

She realized belatedly that she had slipped out of his arms.

"Is that really surprising?"

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No. It's not. I'd just hopped."

She didn't know what to say to that. Of course she believed him and trusted him and obviously she would go through hell to save him. Despite how much she fought it, to control it and hide it, the depths of her feelings for him couldn't be more clear.

But some habits die hard.

"Would you mind if I took a shower?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh yeah." He pushed off the blankets and stood, showing that he hadn't bothered changing clothes either. He dug through his closet a moment, then handed her a folded shirt and a pair of boxers.

She stared down at them a moment.

"Unless you want to live in that cat suit forever." She was glad to hear some of the teasing lilt back in his voice even if it was just a hint.

She scowled at him and pulled the clothes against her chest, while he laughed and bowed her into the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 5

Using Eugene's body wash left the constant smell of Eugene in her nose. It clung to her skin as if he was ghosting his fingers over her, as if he was standing just behind her with his nose buried against her neck. It was overly distracting and she was sure that there was something wrong with her.

He'd knocked on the bathroom door before she could start her shower and asked if her suit was machine washable. When she said it was, he opened the door just enough to reach in a hand to take it.

She'd stared at his hand a moment, still slightly shocked at the notion of letting him so far into her life. Then she'd stripped, peeling the suit from her limbs and cringing at how gross it was, covered in sweat and asphalt and blood and fear.

Eugene waited patiently on the other side of the door, and when she handed over her suit his hand nearly retreated.

"Just a second!"

He paused, waiting, and a moment later she set her underwear on top of her suit.

She could practically see him smirk through the door, and she determinedly refused to think about it further as she scrubbed at her hair until her fingers turned pruney and she built up a ridiculous lather.

The gray shirt he gave her sported a faded, blue Fighting Tunas logo, and it was soft and thin from years of wear. It fit him rather snugly, but it slipped down her shoulders to hang loose and airy, masking her curves but somehow accentuating them at the same time. She wasn't sure how that worked, or if it worked at all. Most likely it was just her overactive imagination.

It was one of his favorite shirts. She tried not to think about that too.

His boxers had elastic and fit a bit better because of it, although they still sat low on her hips. They were still loose enough to make her feel as if she were nearly naked – to make her feel vulnerable in a way that was both frightening and exciting. It was intimate and exhilarating and she caught herself blushing in the mirror before she shook it off and slipped out of the bathroom.

Eugene sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the newspaper, reading it with a frown. He'd changed into a different t-shirt and pajama pants, and she suspected he was planning to stay in them the rest of the day. Given the look on his face, there wasn't anything worth stealing that night anyway.

Tugging on the hem of her shirt, she realized that maybe his bad mood had a different source.

"Hey."

He glanced up at her as if he was just going to wish her good morning, but then he stopped, his eyebrows raising, his mouth not quite closing as he stared at her. For a moment he looked as though he might flip the kitchen table out of the way, march forward, and devour her. She ran a self conscious hand through her damp hair and tried to lean against the wall as if his look didn't affect her.

Swallowing, he averted his eyes. "You want some coffee?"

"Sure."

"Good because that's about all we have."

She smiled but, fiddling with the coffee maker, he didn't see it.

His pajama pants made his ass look really good. She tried not to stare.

"You made the front page again," he said and that was enough to draw her out of her fantasies.

Slipping into the seat across from his, she gathered up all the many, escaping pages of his newspaper. "In a good way or a bad way?"

Eugene hesitated, then went back to his coffee preparations. "I guess it depends on your point of view."

That didn't sound good.

The story apparently went on for several pages and Eugene had been pretty far into it. It took her a moment to sort through and rearrange everything to find the front page.

The headline made her stop breathing.

_Local Hero Breaks into Laboratory, Injures Twelve, Escapes with Wanted Thief_

_High Tower, the long haired young woman with super human abilities, has helped to keep Corona safe for the last two and an half years. She has foiled burglaries, assaults, and vandalism, and assisted the local police on nearly four dozen investigations. This beloved East Side treasure could do no wrong._

_Or so we thought._

_Since her unveiling of the atrocities at High Tower Labs (the notorious incident after which the press named her) most of the top researchers and the board of trustees were imprisoned for charges ranging from human experimentation, kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and conspiracy. Still more were discreetly let go from the company on the heels of such allegations. The company was reformed under new leadership and the sharp eye of government regulators, and has since tried to cleanse itself of their troubled past. _

_"It was a dark time in our history," says Larry Nugent, current chair of genetic research. "We regret that such atrocities took place here and we offer our deepest condolences to those that were affected. Those of us that didn't know what was happening have been hurt by this as well. We've tried to move on and put the past behind us. We wanted a fresh start and to do good for our community. I think our efforts in the last few years have shown that."_

_So it came as a shock when the genetically modified local hero returned to High Tower Labs late last night, broke into the complex, and went on a violent rampage through the building. Twelve were hospitalized, three in serious condition._

_Police have yet to comment on what her motives might have been._

_"She was severely traumatized, and it's possible that she snapped and returned to the scene of the crime for vengeance, even though the guilty parties have already been tried," says psychologist Belinda Mason. "We know that her mental state can't be as healthy as we would hope. It takes a special kind of derangement to deal out vigilante justice."_

_In addition to this wild and shocking behavior, what's more alarming to police is the evidence that she did not act alone in her attack. Video surveillance and eye witness reports put her in the company of Flynn Rider, cat burglar and long time arch nemesis of High Tower. Now that they seem to be working together, the very nature of their relationship has been thrown into question._

_"It was always suspicious that she could never seem to catch him. We've been investigating both of them in recent weeks, suspecting that they were communicating and even aiding one another," says Glass Slipper, speaking on behalf of the League of Peace. "We will bring both of them to justice with all expediency."_

_"We're checking our inventory now to try to find what they took," says Nugent._

_Although such a blow is crushing to all fans of the hero, the question remains as to how far back and how deep the betrayal goes. Have Rider and High Tower been splitting the spoils of his work while High Tower kept the police and other crime fighting agencies off his trail? Has Rider tricked and seduced or possibly coerced the young woman into assisting him?_

_Sargent Weaver of the Corona Police refused to comment on these hypotheses, yet it should be noted that he rolled his eyes and snorted before doing so._

_For now, both High Tower and Rider remain at large. Both are to be treated as unstable and dangerous._

Rapunzel let her head flop onto the table as she crumpled either side of the newspaper in her hands. She stayed like that, breathing in the damp smell of newsprint, trying not to cry, trying to hide from the world - from the reporters and the police and the league, from everyone who would read this story this morning. From Eugene.

Suddenly, she really didn't want to be in his apartment. His kitchen table was not a place to hide. The ground wouldn't open beneath her and swallow her whole if she was in his house, if he was looking at her back.

She tilted her head slightly to peek at him with one eye, not wanting to see the pitying look on his face, but not able to help herself from looking either.

He was still messing about with the coffee, finding sweetener and mixing everything together with a spoon. When he turned and walked towards her, she hid again, dropping her face back to squish her nose against the newsprint and hope that he would leave her alone.

Her coffee cup clicked against the table near her head and one of his warm hands found its way to her shoulder. A moment later his lips pressed against the sensitive back of her neck and she jumped away, sitting up to scowl at him.

"What point of view is it that this good news? No matter how you look at it, it's just awful."

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Look at it this way, now you won't have any qualms about running away with me to the island I'm going to buy."

"Eugene-"

"Now's a great time to start fresh. Turn over a new leaf. Get out of this awful city."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't leave Corona."

"Why not? It sucks here."

"It does not."

"Traffic is bad. There's always a mass power outage or a hurricane or a monster attack or something. The people are unfriendly. And the crime rate is terrible."

"Whose fault is that?"

He smirked, glad she noticed and gave him credit.

"It's my home," she said, "and you're not serious about the island."

"Well, it's hard to be serious about an island. Islands drain the seriousness away. That's why you go there."

She put her head back down on the table and he took to rubbing her shoulder. She couldn't tell if he was trying to offer her sympathy or feel her up.

She groaned. "What is Sargent Weaver going to say?"

"He'll say, 'Where's my mustache trimmer? I put it down right here on top of Rider's giant stack of paperwork.'"

"Be nice."

Eugene sighed, probably rolling his eyes although she couldn't see it with her eyes squeezed closed and her face hidden in the newspaper. "I'm sure your friend down at the police station still thinks you hung the moon and can do no wrong. The next time you see him, you'll explain yourself and you can both go back to your buddy cop movie." He sounded disappointed.

"Or the next time he sees me he'll shoot me on sight."

"Even if he does, he won't hit you. He's shot at me a dozen times. Never even come close."

"That's not the point."

"You're depressing yourself. It's not that bad."

She groaned again.

"You're really that embarrassed by me?"

"Yes."

"Ouch."

"This is terrible. I've lost my job and I can't go home and everyone hates me."

"I don't hate you," he mumbled. That only made her more upset.

"How did you get mixed up with them anyway?" she asked, looking up again to show him the look on her face and how unhappy she was with him, so she could move her shoulders out from under his hands.

Undaunted by her scowl, he leaned back against the table edge, crossing his arms over his chest. "Remember that ruby at the museum?"

"The one you stole and then blamed on Maleficent?"

He smirked. "That's the one. High Tower payed me to steal it."

"And you went along with it?"

He shrugged. "They were the highest bidder."

There were a million things she didn't like about that statement, but at this point Eugene probably regretted dealing with them as well, so it wouldn't do much good to groan at him again and hide her face in her arms to show her displeasure.

"If you stole it for them, why didn't you give it to them?"

"See, that's the thing about paying in advance. I had the money in one hand and the ruby in the other and it occurred to me that I could sell it to someone else and get paid twice."

She stared at him. "But- How is anyone else ever going to hire you again if you turned on your buyer like that?" If they told other buyers, he'd never find another job again.

"They're a legitimate company. They can't exactly _tell_ everyone that I've screwed them over. That would implicate them just as much as me. They should consider it a lesson learned: don't deal with disreputable people." He looked amazingly proud of himself despite the fact that this action had gotten him kidnapped and electrocuted.

"And it didn't occur to you that they might be angry?"

"Of course they'd be angry. I robbed them blind. They won't have the funds to kidnap little girls for years."

"You-"

"It's not like I thought they'd attack me in an alley. Who would have guessed that? I thought they were unethical nerds who hurt you and needed to be taken down a peg. How was I supposed to know they had ninjas on their pay roll?"

He was starting to confuse her again, sounding protective and caring and like he knew more than he let on. She didn't quite know what to say. "I could have told you that," she mumbled.

"And that's what's so great about our new situation. You can tell me not to work with these people."

"You'd ignore me and do it anyway."

He ducked his head into her line of sight and caught her gaze with his own to emphasize his alarming levels of sincerity. "I wouldn't ignore you. I might do it anyway, but I'd never ignore you if you told me not to deal with someone."

She stared at him. "Eugene," she said, trying to match his honesty with her tone, "I want you to stop dealing with people who want to torture you. And anyone really who wants to buy stolen goods... And I want you to stop stealing things."

The corner of his lips tugged up towards a smile as he raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes again in disapproval.

He scratched at the side of his head, trying to look abashed, but also trying to look delicious, and ending up making her frown more at him and his terrible, manipulative ways, making her want to jump him, slam him down onto the table, and climb on top of him.

They'd spill coffee everywhere and it would scald and they would both totally deserve it.

"That's the other reason I didn't have a problem taking their money and running... I've been thinking about retiring, and it doesn't really matter if I can never find another fence."

She blinked at him, her scowl fading even as the dubious feeling in her stomach remained. "What?"

"Got paid twice for that ruby job, remember. Just imagine how much that thing was worth. Then double it."

She stared. He must be filthy rich.

"But then... That was months ago. Why haven't you stopped? You could have moved to your island by now. You could have gotten a better car. Why get a job at an all night pizzeria? Why stick around when you might be caught? When the League or High Tower might come after you?"

He looked at her for a long moment as he weighed his words. His scrutinizing look and the silence made her uncomfortable.

Finally he looked away, clearing his throat into his fist before reaching back and shifting his weight to grip the table edge with both hands. "Like I said... I've done a lot of stupid things lately."

A lot of stupid things. Since meeting her.

So many misguided attempts to defend her honor and get back at people who hurt her. So many ways he'd tried to get close to her, to get to know her, and be her friend. He was annoying and confusing, and yet unbearably sweet.

He truly cared about her. She could accept that now. He just didn't know what to do with those feelings and he expressed them in the few ways he knew how: stealing things and delivering pizzas.

Honestly (because it was time for honesty) she still didn't know what to make of him, how to treat him, what to feel when she thought of him, what she should do with him or with herself. But with time she could figure it out. She had confidence she could – a warmth that flickered in her chest that felt a bit like hope and reminded her of the image of a sunny tomorrow.

And more than that she could figure it out, she realized that that was what she wanted. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to be near him. She wanted to let him see her at her most vulnerable, even as she despised her own vulnerability. The feeling was so odd, so novel, that she couldn't even look at it directly yet – only glimpses at an angle.

Almost shyly, she reached for his hand and tugged him forward until, with painful tentativeness, she could take his face in her hands, look into his eyes, and kiss him, swallowing down her fears as she gave into that swelling hope in her chest. He settled into it after a heartbeat, his eyes closing and his lips moving against hers, tilting his head to deepen their contact. He braced himself, one hand clenching the back of her chair, the other flat against the table top in front of her, and she could feel all the tension in his body through the flavor of his kiss, through the set of his jaw in her hand. He held himself still, stopping himself from touching her, and all his desire leaked into their single point of contact.

It drove her crazy, her fingers itching to grab the front of his shirt and yank him forward, her legs begging her to stand and press against him, to have him sweep her up into his arms.

She broke the kiss and pulled back enough to watch his eyes slowly open and stare at her as if she were the most beautiful, terrible thing he'd ever seen. She pulled back and watched him run his tongue over his lips.

"You're a good man," she said.

His eyebrows shifted into a look of confused amusement. "How do you figure that?"

"Just a feeling."

"Admitting to having feelings about me, that's a step. Is it exasperation or lust?"

"Now it's exasperation."

"I can fix that."

He leaned in to kiss her again, and she pulled back, just out of reach, causing his eyebrows to furrow together.

"I'm... not very good at this kind of thing."

He smirked at her, his eyes turning dark as he leaned in to kiss the side of her neck. "You're _very_ good at this kind of thing."

She pulled back again and again he looked confused and disappointed. "No, I mean... I mean... What do you think will happen now?"

He started to say something crude or suave, but definitely stupid, then he stopped himself and frowned. "You know what I want to happen."

"For us to run away together."

"Is it that far fetched?"

"I- I don't know. It's all happening so fast and I just don't know." She bit her lip and gave him a pleading look, hoping he'd understand.

"It's not that fast," he countered. "It's been building for months."

She supposed he had a point, but didn't admit it. "You decide what you want and then you go get it and you don't ever think about consequences. I can't do that," she said.

"No, you way over think everything, and you don't trust me."

"I don't trust anyone! This is hard for me!" She pressed the pads of her fingers to her forehead and took a deep breath. "Just... I just need time."

His face softened, some of the tension melting from his arms and shoulders until his head lolled forward in defeat, his forehead coming to rest against hers. He took a breath and nodded, his forehead rubbing against hers.

"I get that," he said, and, understanding and pitying, it sounded as if he really did. "But just tell me I have some chance. That you're not just putting off the inevitable."

She tried to look down and away, still attempting to hide from the uncomfortable tightness in her chest, but he was too close for her to hide from him. With him this close, she could smell his intoxicating body wash drifting into her skin.

"You have a chance."

His eyes opened slowly to search into hers, looking for some sign that she was lying or just saying what she thought she should say, what she though he wanted to hear. But her wide, green eyes held only honesty, and his face washed with guarded hope.

By some unspoken agreement, by some invisible sign, they reached for each other. His fingers dug into her hair, cradling her head, snagging in thin, damp tangles. Her arms slipped around his shoulders, so she could draw him closer and he could lift her onto her feet. Her hands stretched as far down his spine as she could reach as she pushed up onto her tip toes.

Their kiss stretched and deepened and the enthusiasm built inch by inch until the kiss was a stone rolling down a mountain, gaining momentum, losing control.

The hand resting in that familiar spot on her waist slipped into her shirt effortlessly, his hands rough against skin still warm and soft from her shower. Funny how different his gentle stroking felt from the sensations in her own roaming hands, from his shirt under her palms, the way it caught and dragged, the way it felt unreasonably coarse when compared to her own loved clothes, when compared to her memory of his skin beneath the fabric.

His tongue drew out a happy moan, that he inhaled, that inflated him with strength. And she gasped as his fingers brushed her breast, her head arching back, her eyes closed to hold in as much pleasure as she could. He let her catch her breath for only a moment, then sealed his lips against hers once more.

He guided her backwards, unwilling to pull away, to stop his hands from roaming over her skin. Their eyes remained closed as they drifted out of the kitchen, too caught in one another to give up any of the sensations or any brain power at all to aid in navigation.

His hands were everywhere – cupping her face, cradling her shoulder blades, marking the curve of her ass as if he would lift her straight off the ground and squeeze her. He was bold, like when she wore her mask. He was loving, like the last time he'd touched her. But then there was something else, something new.

He was letting himself hope, and setting himself up for disappointment. Again. And he didn't know if she loved him back or what this was - a sign of mutual affection and agreement or a sign that she needed something physical in the moment and would pull away again. So he sucked her lower lip with desperation, trying to pull her in, to convince her, because he couldn't tell if she had come to a decision yet and when she did, he wanted her firmly on one side. His side.

It was all too easy to kiss back just as passionately and pull at his arms and sigh against him and let him sweep her up in whatever scheme he had now. This is what she wanted and what she should do and when this moment was over... well, she didn't know what would happen then, and thinking about it made her insides chill, so she thrust it from her mind and focused on Eugene.

He whacked his knee into the corner of the sofa, bringing them to a sudden halt. They were so tightly wound around one another that they nearly tripped and fell together without ever being in danger of being ripped apart. He swore against her lips and she giggled, but then they were back together again, moving more quickly across the apartment until she tripped over the coffee table.

She squeaked in surprise and he growled, holding her tighter, keeping her upright. And she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and changed their direction, pulling him down onto the sofa instead of trying to make it all the way to the bedroom, which now seemed amazingly far away.

He landed on top of her, smirking against her lips, one of his arms braced over her head for support, his fingers digging into her hair. He had her surrounded with heat, and she pulled him closer to build that heat into something unbearable, to fight him for control, to bring his weight more completely on top of her. Why was he supporting himself anyway? That hand could be doing other things and she didn't mind being squished. Not at all.

His shirt made it to the floor, but nothing else did. Her shirt was rucked up enough to press her skin to his, but she refused to pull away from him enough to yank it off all the way. His hand slipped into the boxers she wore with only slightly more effort than he'd expended on her shirt.

Her face by turns scrunched up with intolerable need and slackened in pleasure, her fingers digging into his back and abs, threading through his hair, grabbing at the hem of his pants to pull his hips more firmly against her. He kissed her until she was dizzy, until there was only desire and his shoulders to cling to, only her need to touch more of him and his hot breath growing faster and faster in her ear.

Slumping, they lay snuggled together, panting and drowsy. He managed to pull a blanket from the back of the couch and toss it over them without sitting up, but he didn't manage to cover their feet before he gave up to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Surrounded in the most perfect kind of warmth, she let dozed, awaking briefly to leave lazy kisses against his shoulder and trail her fingers down his spine. His hands tensed against her waist as if she were tickling him, and he muttered something unintelligible before nipping at her ear halfheartedly.

At some point he turned on the TV and they watched mid-morning game shows as he rested his head on her chest and she found all the kinks in his shoulders and rubbed them away with her thumbs.

It was a very good way to spend the day.

"What do you think High Tower wanted with that ruby?"

"Don't know," he murmured. "Maybe Yzma wanted a really heavy necklace." He scooted a bit to nuzzle his nose against the side of her neck, letting his fingers trail up and down her side. She could recognize by now when he was trying to distract her, and it was sweet of him, but it wasn't going to work.

"Do you think they were going to... use it on someone?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like using it in an experiment to give someone super powers." She imagined the ruby set in a special apparatus, a high powered laser beam entering the stone, then exiting the other side at a slight angle, now tinted with the ruby's magic. She imagined them shaving off part of the stone and inserting it under her skin, a sliver of malice that worked its way into her blood stream and muscles. She imagined ingesting ruby powder or having melted ruby injected into her eyes.

Eugene's arms tightened ever so slightly around her.

She took a breath to fight off a shudder and bent her head forward to press a weak kiss to his shoulder, to breathe in the comforting smell of him and give herself something else to think about.

"I'm glad you didn't give it to them."

He didn't say anything, but his fingers continued their trail back and forth over her ribs.

After a moment she tilted her head slightly to look him in the eye and smile. "What caper do you have planned next?"

"Why? You want to help?"

"No."

"Then you're cheating. Trying to use your wiles to make me tell you what I'm doing."

"What? I- I'd never do that!"

He laughed and kissed at her ear.

What would that even be like? He'd kiss her goodbye in the evening and say he was off to a jewelry store and she would rush into her hero clothes and follow him. They would fight and grope each other on a roof top, the robbery mostly forgotten, their fighting restrained so they wouldn't hurt each other. Then they'd come home and make out some more.

It'd be insanely … domestic. She wouldn't really be protecting anything or anyone and he wouldn't really be hurting anyone. Which was alright, on the one hand. If the city wasn't in danger, that was a good thing. But on the other, it would feel too much like they were dressing up to play cops and robbers. It'd end up just being their personal thrill seeking play time. She wouldn't be able to take herself seriously, and if anyone found out, she would have to die of embarrassment.

But that kind of thing would happen even if he didn't tell her where he was going. She was good at finding him and then it'd play out the same way.

So how was this going to work?

He interrupted her swirling thoughts by speaking again. "Actually, I could use your input for my next heist."

Her stomach twisted, and she suddenly felt cold despite Eugene keeping her warm all over. When she spoke the words tasted bitter. "I told you, even though I'm on Corona's most wanted, that doesn't mean I'm going to turn to a life of crime."

"Hmm. We'll see about that. But I'm talking about lifting all your stuff out of your apartment."

"My-" She turned back to him, her eyes wide. "What?"

"The League of Prissiness knows where you live, so they're probably watching it, waiting for you to come back... I guess you _could_ just ditch it all."

She thought for a moment. "There's probably only one or two of them watching it. I could take them."

"Like hell you could."

"You don't think I could do it?"

"I-" He snapped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes at her, clearly sensing he was on thin ice, but also clearly thinking he was right. "I just think there's an easier solution somewhere."

"Like what?"

"I could just walk in there as Eugene and look really confused when the Scarab pops out at me. I could say I got a phone call from you and I jumped to help even though you didn't tell me what was happening. I'm a nice guy like that."

"Uh huh."

"She'd tell me about all the horribleness you've done, and I'd look shocked, and she'd suggest using your clothes or me as bait to draw you out of hiding, and I'd go along with it, throw whatever tracking device she installs off a bridge, and come home."

"How do you know any of that will happen?"

"I don't. But I'll wing it."

"She'll recognize you."

"Then maybe _I_ can take her. What do you think of that?"

"I think instead you could act as a distraction while I go in and pack."

"Or while Charlie goes in to pack."

"No. Don't get him involved. It's too dangerous, he'll be grumpy about it, and I don't want him going through my clothes."

Eugene snorted. "He'll be more embarrassed than you. And he'll hide some cannoli in your pockets, or something, and pride himself on how sweet he was being."

That was true. He probably would.

"What we need," he said, "is a great big distraction. We need some super villain to descend on the city and try to kill everyone so your baby shower friends all have to show up and leave your house unattended."

"Don't wish for that kind of catastrophe."

"Hmm."

"I know! You could pack all my stuff in my suitcase, then when you go downstairs, you could switch everything out and put all my stuff into pizza boxes!"

The muscles in his stomach clenched like he was trying not to laugh. "Then what? The League wonders why I left the pizzeria without your suitcases but with suitcase sized stuff and follows me straight here."

"You could drop my empty suitcase off somewhere. They'd sit and watch it for hours waiting for me to show up. And you could deliver my clothes in pizza boxes someplace. Someplace kind of public. And I could pick them up and take them here a different way."

"Yeah, that'll work!"

"You really think so?"

"No!"

He laughed at the look on her face and she repeatedly poked him between the ribs in retaliation, biting her lip to keep from laughing herself. He snatched her hand away to pin it over her head and kiss her.

"In breaking news," said the television, "the standoff at city hall, where we are told a dozen people are being held hostage, including the mayor and city council, is entering its second hour."

Rapunzel turned to watch the images of city hall, surrounded by caution tape, police cars, a crowd of reporters, and curious onlookers. Eugene held very still above her.

She caught Sargent Weaver's long faced partner working crowd control through a megaphone, looking even more stressed and annoyed than usual. It was weird to see him alone, without the company of his mustached partner, and something twisting in her stomach told her that it did not bode well.

A mugshot of a thin, skull faced woman with a ruthless smile appeared. "The leader behind this operation has been identified as Cruella deVil, but reports on her level of support inside the building vary."

A traumatized man who escaped during the initial violence with a few others, before the building was locked down, babbled into a reporter's microphone about the noise of gunfire and the crazy woman's snarling hounds from hell. His eyes were wide and he was wrapped in a thick blanket from one of the emergency vehicles.

Snow White's helicopter could be clearly seen circling the building, and then Glass Slipper was on the screen, standing in front of a cheering crowd, promising justice.

"This," Eugene said slowly, "is exactly the kind of distraction I was talking about."

The reporter began to list the group's previous crimes and current demands, but Rapunzel didn't stay to listen. She scrambled up, pushing Eugene off of her and kicking her way free of the blanket and his legs, heading straight to the washing machine.

"Where are you going?" he called.

"I have to help."

"What? No, you don't." He'd pushed himself up too, following after her and giving her a frustrated look as she wriggled her suit back over her hips, her bare feet padding against the linoleum in the little utility closet.

"Sargent Weaver might be in there. He wasn't with his partner."

"And maybe he was standing right out of the frame because he's too ugly to be shown on local news."

She glared at him, tugging her arms into her sleeves.

"They're the police," he argued, "They can take care of this themselves."

"Obviously, they can't."

"The League is already there. Let them handle this for once."

"I don't trust them to do anything right anymore."

"You'll be walking right into a huge mess of people who want to arrest you or hurt you or worse."

"I can't just let this kind of thing happen, Eugene! This is what I do. This is who I am. They can say whatever they want about me, and it won't change that. I have to show them that." She zipped up her suit with a sense of finality, changing her hair blonde and letting it spring out to her waist as she did so. "Can't you understand that?"

She hadn't meant to say all that. She didn't mean to hurt him or shut him down so completely, but it was the truth.

He stared at her a moment, chewing his words. His eyes were pained as he realized for not the first time that things were not going to turn out as he pictured in his dreams.

With a sense of resignation, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You'll get there faster if I give you a ride."

* * *

><p>Eugene gave city hall a wide berth as he eased into downtown. He circled four blocks from the swarming news vans and flashing lights that could be seen from half way down Corona's main hill before he pulled into an alley and stopped.<p>

Rapunzel sat up from her slouch low in the the passenger seat where passing police cars were less likely to notice her. It seemed they had other things on their minds.

"You sure there's no way to talk you out of this?"

"I'll be fine. Don't worry so much." She slipped out of his overlarge hoodie (that he'd insisted she wear for the trip) and craned her neck to check out the rear window for any unwanted spectators. Seeing they were alone, she fit her mask to her face and let her hair lengthen and tumble to the floor board.

He scoffed. "Me? Worry?"

"You're cute," she said, and leaned across the parking break to kiss him. He didn't really respond, but given his mood she didn't expect him to.

Her determination to jump back into the fray was probably making him more ticked off than he already was after yet another of her rejections of his plans, his new job of apparently being her chauffeur, and his constant anxiety over her safety against monsters.

But she couldn't help it. This was her calling, and it was right, and she would do it even if the whole world was against her. And maybe this would fix things. Maybe this show of heroism would prove to any doubters that she was a good person and this whole second High Tower incident would blow over. The prospect of being redeemed thrilled her.

She just wished she could have both: her life and Eugene.

Maybe some day.

"Please don't get shot," he said.

"Less work for you if I did."

"You've no idea." And then he kissed her as if he could make her forget her crazy plan and stay in the car forever.

She smiled at him, checked around again, and slipped away.

City Hall was connected to the sprawl of tunnels that lay beneath the streets. The tunnels first came into being when the city decided to connect individual government buildings to one another. For some reason they couldn't do it above ground, which was a shame because Rapunzel thought sky bridges were amazing. The tunnels connected city hall to the squat building of the mayor's office, and to the court house. Then they spread more - to the department of records and the library (a tunnel so hidden in the depths of the basement and used so infrequently that few people could still find it). Since the tunnel's expansion meant it was in the area, they added on entrances to the power plant and sanitation center. One outlet led to a subway station for government employees to get to work. Then a hotel demanded access so they could get in on the excitement. Eventually they realized that the tunnel wasn't all that great and stopped using it.

The tunnels spilled down the south side of the hill, weakening the structural integrity of the buildings above it, and leaking and flooding during the terrible summer rains. Its labyrinthine corridors had no greater plan, sometimes twisting at random, sometimes branching into unfinished caves, sometimes halting abruptly and leading nowhere.

Everyone knew it was there. Some people still used it. There was no question that the police had considered entering city hall that way, and it was probable that the villains inside had known to barricade the entrance.

But Rapunzel would try anyway. It seemed a smarter, safer bet than trying to slip through the crowd outside to break through a window or climb to the roof. In the daylight, she'd stick out and rather than being her usual, invisible self, people would just watch her with confusion and ask themselves if she knew they could see her.

She broke into the hall of records through a back door, using a sandwich shop rewards card to pop the lock. Inside the air was cool and musty and she made her way quickly to the basement, where she darted past several rows of locked record rooms and the open door of a break room, where four record keepers were watching continuing coverage of the standoff with their backs facing the door. The tunnel entrance was down at the end, and she had to pop another lock (this time with a pick set.) She froze as the record keepers started talking, and continued more quietly as they settled into conversation. The door clicked open and she dashed down a flight of stairs, into the warmth of the tunnels and navigated north and a bit west toward city hall.

The tunnels were lit, but not well. It gave the impression of the street lighting on the outskirts of town in the evening. It made her feel more at home, more capable. Her pace quickened with the thrumming of her heart.

After several wrong turns, and the conclusion that the old signs that had been put up to give directions were inaccurate and should be ignored, she heard the sound of voices.

She peeked around a corner, and pulled back immediately, pressing her back to the wall. Twelve police officers in swat gear were trying to break through the door with limited success. None of them were Sargent Weaver.

They weren't going to make any progress anytime soon, so she turned back. Maybe she could find a thick pipe or a chute that lead up into the building, something she could squeeze into.

She prowled slowly around the general area, trying to match where she was below ground with where she would be on the surface. Probably somewhere on the east side of the building. She found a ladder up, and followed it, but it lead to a grating in the street outside. She could hear the excited rumble of the crowd nearby. She slid back down the ladder and carried on, heading a bit further north as she went to get back under the building.

And then she heard more voices, quieter this time, deeper and darker. She approached more cautiously than she had with the police.

She stayed so close to the few, pale shadows that it was almost as though she created her own, wrapping herself in darkness, making herself unnoticeable, creating an illusion of invisibility so subtle that it might have just been her posture as she crept forward. She hugged tight to the wall and snuck up to peek around the corner, but something stopped her.

As she'd moved forward, the low conversation had separated themselves into a few different voices. She still couldn't hear the words they mumbled to one another, but she could tease apart the differences in tone. There were two men, both hefty (judging from their voices), both struggling with something physical, both directing each other while trying to remain quiet.

The growling she first took as grumbles of irritation did not belong to either of them. There was something else with them in depths of the tunnels. Something not human.

She took several steps back and used her hair to haul herself onto one of the pipes that ran down the center of the ceiling. It was thick as her hips and she tipped precariously before finding her balance. She had to crouch or she would hit her head on the ceiling, and she had to lean slightly to one side to avoid leaning against a few smaller pipes that pressed against her side and surely wouldn't hold her. The pipe beneath her feet was uncomfortably warm to touch, and she worked to keep her hands clear, pressing them to the ceiling so she wouldn't be tempted to rest them on the pipe below and burn herself. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hoping the heat would wait a moment before creeping into her boots.

Then she scooted forward, quiet as could be, hidden in deeper darkness now and feeling more comfortable with her new vantage point except for the way she was beginning to sweat.

Below her stood two men, situated in a seemingly random corridor - one just like all the rest - but their careful determination and their frequent consultation of a tunnel map made it clear they had picked the spot for a reason. She wasn't sure which building they were under - maybe still city hall, maybe the justice department, or maybe they were still under the street. She watched them attach wires to a kind of control panel and several large tanks of chemicals that sat on a rolling cart.

They tried to be quiet, but they were used to using brute force over stealth. They were used to sweeping, powerful gestures rather than the delicate work their job now required. They were used to snapping at one another, and such habits were hard to break.

They weren't used to working while holding back two massive beasts.

The creatures looked like dogs, but twice the size of any she'd seen before. Their faces pulled back in tight, wrinkled snarls that might never leave their faces, their teeth long and sharp and yellowed, dripping saliva that shivered and resonated with their growls as it dripped slowly onto the floor. Their hair was dark and matted, spotted oil black on bloody brown, and they smelled of sweet decay and the warm salt of ripped flesh. Rapunzel pressed a hand over her mouth and nose to keep the stench at bay, to keep herself from gasping.

They sniffed at the air in gasps, and she knew they could sense her. Their cloudy, black eyes snapped back and forth to search for her, each sweep accompanied by a surge against their restraints. Maybe they were blind. Maybe they were so gripped with hatred they could no longer see. They would be guided by the smell of her fear, then the smell of her blood.

One of the men held onto their leashes - thick lengths of rope and chains that clanked as the beasts moved and strained against the flesh of their necks as they longed to lunge forward and fly at whatever foe stood closest. The hell hounds jerked him forward and to the side and he wrestled to keep his balance, to keep the beasts still and quiet, to keep them from bumping and toppling their equipment.

The man swore and his colleague hissed at him to be silent.

"Somethin's got 'em riled."

"They're always riled."

His hum of agreement was cut off as the hell hounds surged forward again.

"Keep 'em quiet."

"Tryin' to."

"The lady'll be ticked if those cops get wind of this."

"Thought that's what these guys were for." He gestured to the beasts with a stupid grin, before he was jerked back into the moment.

Rapunzel had no idea what they were doing. It didn't quite look like a bomb. But then again it kind of did and she didn't know all that much about bombs.

She wondered if this was the real operation and the hostage situation was a distraction, or if the bomb would emphasize whatever point was being made upstairs. She wondered if there were more of these devices scattered and coordinated throughout the tunnels.

Whatever they were doing, she had to stop it. She had to find out more.

She bit her lip and checked her balance, holding he ceiling with one sweaty palm, taking a length of hair and swinging it in preparation. With a sharp intake of breath, she lashed out at the dogs, grabbing one by all four paws and one by three and hoisted them off the ground, lifting them in a net attached to the thick hot water pipe at her feet. They were so heavy, she could only pull them a few feet off the ground, and they yelped before snarling with unmatched levels of ferocity, letting out a deep, rumbling bark that echoed through the halls. They scrambled to get their feet under them, clawing at the ground for purchase. Her hair knotted, split, and shredded as the monsters struggled, and she couldn't guess if they were ensnaring themselves further or if their fighting would rip the hair apart so they could charge at her.

Before the men or the hounds had found their bearings, she flew at the bigger man who was arranging the wires and twisting knobs on the tanks. In his surprise, she knocked him off balance, onto the floor and delivered four quick punches and a kick before she had to roll behind the equipment to avoid the second man.

He paused, watching her from the other side of the equipment, picking which direction he should chase her, still dazed that she was there at all. And there was something else in the way his eyes darted to the tanks and back. He didn't want to touch them.

She dodged left, hit him in the side, spun out of the way of his clumsy blow, and kicked him in the back, sending him stumbling towards the equipment, which he avoided by throwing his weight awkwardly, falling to the floor with a twisted ankle.

The first man found his feet, huffing, and he kept up with her for a moment while they fought. A punch, a chop, a spin and a kick. He blocked and swung and ducked to the right.

And Rapunzel was yanked back as one of the hounds twisted with a violent jerk that caused it to drop it to the floor, still tangled in hair. It landed hard and lay on its side, drool smeared hair locked around its jaws and legs and throat. It howled in rage and scrambled worse than ever, and Rapunzel barely dodged another blow from one of the men, ducking and grabbing him by the ankle to flip him onto his back. He landed just like the dog, but did not recover as quickly.

No sooner had he hit the ground than she clashed together with the other man, punching and twisting and throwing an elbow into his face. The hounds yanked her roughly to the side, and she could feel them slipping loose bit by bit, broken hair by broken hair. She moved with the pull of her hair, using the momentum to dodge a blow and hit the thug in the side.

When she aimed a second blow at his head, he caught it, sending a jolt through her arm, up into her shoulder. She tried to push through his hand, then pull away, but he grinned at her, a trickle of blood skipping down from his hairline into his eyebrow.

He slammed her against the wall with enough force that she saw stars. When she focused enough to see again, she found his hand on her throat, lifting her slowly off the ground. Gasping, she clawed at his fingers, but he held her tighter, watching as she struggled in vain, not noticing the way her hair shifted and parted.

With a suddenness and a spark in her eyes that he thought had faded with her breath, her hand formed a fist that flew at his eye just as the freed hell hound leapt for her. With a howl of pain that was cut off and replaced with terrible noises that she would try to forget later, he dropped her and she stumbled to the floor, scrambling away as quickly as she could.

She couldn't catch her breath or pull herself from the floor, too horrified by the sight before her. The slapping sounds of the beast's jaws. The twitch of the man's fingers. The mixed sounds of breathing and gasping.

The hound raised its head slowly, then snapped around to pin her with its stare.

For a second nothing moved but the fear swelling in her soul.

Then the beast lunged and she threw herself to the side in a roll, coming up on her feet with a tangled loop of hair in one hand. The hell hound smashed into the wall where she sat only moments before, then came at her again, undeterred. Again she dodged, catching at its front paws with her hair. The hair caught, but the beast didn't notice as it plowed past, turned, and charged again. Then she was darting, left, right, but always back, always retreating. A swipe of its claws. A snap of its teeth. She shoot loops of hair with every backwards slide, catching its snout, its feet, its tail in loose grips that neither slowed it down nor hindered its movements. It started to look as if straw had been piled on top of it.

At the last second, she avoided the jaws of the second animal, still caught and suspended in her hair.

She shuffled to the side, slightly off balance, and bumped against the tanks of chemicals, causing one to topple to the floor before she could grab it. And in those few, precious moments the hound was on her, and she was shielding her face, and it was clawing at her shoulders, its teeth sinking into her forearm. She cried out and pretended the ripping noise was her suit and not her skin. She kneed it in the stomach, trying to throw it off, but all it did was grunt and snarl and grind its teeth deeper into her arm. Blood dripped onto her face, mixed with the beast's drool and an overpowering smell of power and rot.

Her heart beat so fast it was hard to think. Her adrenaline pumped so hard she couldn't feel the pain.

Her free hand grabbed at the ground, searching for something, anything to use as a weapon. Or maybe it was trying to crawl away and escape when it knew the battle was lost.

The dog shook her arm, rattling her bones up to her neck, whacking her head against the floor, its teeth pulling through muscle. And something was in her hand - something heavy, something she could almost grip.

And with the last of her strength and courage she slammed it against the hell hound's head.

With a crack and a stiffed whimper as the tank collided with its skull, the monster collapsed, hot and slobbering and blood soaked, on top of her.

All she could do was breathe. Breathe and stare at the unadorned ceiling and hold back tears that had no business being there.

The other hell hound had fallen silent. With a heave, she shouldered the monster off of her, letting it flop to the side. She pulled her arm from its slack jaws, tugging the frayed edges of her suit loose from its teeth and trying not to look at her arm too closely. The hound was still covered in a mass of hair, and she decided it was easier to chop it off and leave it than try to untangle it.

She didn't really want the gross hair back anyway.

Tucking her arm against her chest and pressing at a pain in her side, she hobbled over to the tanks and wires to inspect them.

It wasn't a bomb. That much she could tell even in her dazed state. The tanks were full of some kind of toxin. She'd heard the name before, but she didn't remember where. A neurotoxin? Something gaseous with many, many warning stickers. She probably shouldn't have used one as a blunt weapon.

On further inspection, the tanks were attached to a thin tube that led up into the ceiling. The wires she'd noticed were attached to some kind of counter - a remote detonator.

They were planning biological warfare on whatever government building was above them.

She plucked up the map and searched for a moment, her eyes almost focusing on the red circle and sloppy handwritten note. "_Courtroom 1F_."

Well, that sounded like the justice building. She frowned up at the ceiling as if she could see into the courtroom or hear what they were saying. Which trial was it? Did they want to kill everyone in the room, or they were planning an escape attempt for whoever was on trial? Either way, the hostage situation was definitely a distraction.

And if it was a distraction, they'd have an exit strategy.

Snatching up the detonator, she tucked it under her arm, and jerked the tubes from the ceiling. She checked the tank she used to knock out the hell hound for damage, then set it back on the rolling cart and shoved the whole thing into motion, avoiding the pile of dog on the floor or the one suspended in the air.

As quickly as she could, she retraced her steps and slowed as she heard the police, still attempting to bust their way into city hall. It struck her that their attempts were juvenile at best, and this might actually be the police's distraction as they entered the building from another route. Maybe. Maybe not.

She left the rolling cart of chemicals just out of sight and took several steps back down the hallway before letting out a shrill whistle, running for the cover of the shadows, and pulling herself up onto another thick pipe.

The police fell silent. Then their tone changed to curiosity and defensive caution. Some scuffling and two police appeared around the corner, their guns trained on the cart, their flashlights throwing an ominous shadow out behind the tanks. A moment's pause and they hurried forward, checking the tanks and the map and signaling to the other police, shouting for someone to check it out.

Rapunzel nodded and turned to go when something caught her eye and held her in place. In the gleam of the bright flashlights, she could make out a trail, a kind of scuff mark left behind by the tires. It wasn't exactly a different color, but more like a change in texture, like the rubber from the cart's wheels had covered the shine of the tile.

She could just make it out going back towards the courthouse, tracing the steps she took to come here.

In just a moment the police might see it too. Or they'd start to follow the map she'd left for them to pick up the criminals and the hell hounds. She didn't have much time.

Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, she raced back the way she'd come, keeping her balance on the pipe beneath her feet through sheer momentum. Once she rounded the corner out of sight, she dropped to the floor and flew after the invisible tracks.

Twice she had to stop and kneel close to the floor to make them out and assure herself that she was going the right direction. She tilted her head side to side until the light caught the tile just right and she could make out the tracks like the absence of reflection across a pond.

She could hear the dog scrambling and whining and a man groaning as he regained consciousness before she saw them, and - with the police quickly approaching from behind - she dropped again to check the tracks. One set came out of the side passage where she'd had her fight, marking her own movements with the cart. But then there was another, which turned out of the side passage and carried on down the corridor in the opposite direction.

She darted past the growling hell hound and raced along the hall until she turned another corner and fell out of sight of the swat team and the criminals, slightly more safe hidden in the maze of tunnels. Here she could slow just a bit and make sure she hadn't lost her way. Here she could swallow down the pained lump in her throat that had grown from her shortness of breath and the pain in her side.

How had she even hurt her side, anyway? She couldn't remember.

She chanced a look down at her arm and immediately looked away with a cringe, pulling a length of gauze out of her belt as she walked. It would probably be better to roll up her sleeve before bandaging it, but the torn fabric was nearly adhered to her flesh and she didn't want to think about how painful it would be to peel the suit away. It seemed to be clotting some of the blood too.

She wrapped the gauze over her arm, sleeve and all, as tight as she could considering she was doing it left handed, then congratulated herself on having all her vaccines in order. She couldn't really have Eugene take her to the hospital now for a rabies shot. She'd get arrested.

The skid marks lead around and back until she was sure she was back under city hall again before they stopped abruptly at a fire door. She eased it open, which wasn't hard as it was so heavy it wouldn't open quickly, and found herself in city hall's small parking garage.

It was mostly empty, every noise echoing and distorted until it was no longer recognizable. Even in the odd stillness, it felt alive, as if a dozen people were standing just in the shadows, just behind the concrete pillars. There was no squeal of tires, no movements of headlights across the asphalt. Which made sense as no one was able to leave.

One row over and a few spots down sat an unmarked van, which screamed "escape vehicle." It had a straight shot from the back of the van to the tunnel she'd just left, it had room (not much, but still room) for the hell hounds, and if she squinted she could just make out the shape of a waiting man in the side view mirror. The garbled sounds of his radio were almost recognizable. Slipping forward, she could see that he wore the same black beanie and the same nondescript black coat as the men she'd fought in the tunnels.

The question was if they would escape in the back of this van, bursting out of the parking garage, or if they would make their way into the tunnels and out through an obscure exit on the other side of town. She decided that either way it wouldn't hurt to slash their tires.

So she did. She stayed low and out of sight of the driver, slipping her knife into one back tire, then the other, watching as they ever so slowly deflated with a hiss that was lost to the natural rumble of the parking garage.

Rapunzel had been to city hall twice, once to go to a city council meeting when she first escaped from High Tower and was looking for a way to help the city. After the meeting she sought out other, less restrictive forms of community service. The second time she was given a medal for valor and there were a great many photographers and reporters and politicians and everyone wanted to shake her hand. Sargent Weaver wore his nice, dress uniform and helped escort her out of the building when she clearly grew overwhelmed.

The pink granite floors and the murals spanning Corona's long and glorious history all looked exactly the same as she peeked out of the parking garage into the main building. The stillness was different. Instead of being crowded with people, shouting to ask her questions, it was nearly deserted except for the three armed henchmen that had ducked behind the front desk and one of the pillars to avoid being sniped through the huge front windows. She could just make out the red and blue flash of the police force outside.

If memory served her correctly, the city council chambers were on the third floor. She slipped out of the main foyer and took the stairs, rushing up to the fourth floor.

Again, there was that eerie silence. No workers on their phones in their offices, no mail deliverers with their rolling carts, no aids rushing back and forth. It was an abandoned hallway with abandoned rooms, and the quiet and the growing pressure in her head made the space feel as though it were pounding against her.

Up the hallway and around a corner, she found the door leading to the balcony over the council chambers where people could come and watch if they had nothing to present or complain about. This was where she'd come the first time she was here.

The door was locked, but it only took her a minute of lock picking for the bolt to clunk open. She pressed carefully on the door's push bar, sure to make no noise when it would usually click and crash and give her away. Staying low to the ground, she eased the door shut behind her and slipped up to the balcony rail, peeking over the edge.

Two goons in the same black beanies and dark coats stood below her, frowning at the hostages and the the walls and each other. Both of them were armed. Rapunzel didn't do so well against guns. She was too used to fighting Rider. But the danger they posed was significantly lower than the sight of two more of those terrible monsters, snarling and straining against one of the thugs to get at the hostages, who sat in a group against the side wall.

Her eyes slipped over them, counting, cataloging, checking them for injuries - all eight of the city council members (she assumed based on their clothes because she only remembered a few of their faces), the mayor, three people who looked like aids, and five people who looked like they were regular citizens in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some huddled in on themselves, quivering with every lunge of the hell hounds. Other hostages glared at their captors with undisguised contempt. The mayor looked particularly ferocious and indignant, as did one particular man on the other side of the group. Rapunzel's eyes widened, and she bit down the excitement and fear that rose in her chest upon recognizing Sargent Weaver in plain clothes.

She stored the information away for later, along with the thought that apart from being frightened and a bit on the disheveled side, the hostages looked unharmed.

A laugh startled her, and she ducked down further behind the railing, just a sliver of her eyes visible as she searched for the source with renewed fever. The laugh was cold except for where it was singed around the edges, warmed with genuine amusement.

A woman strolled out from under the balcony to stand in the middle of the room, throwing out her long arms for exaggerated effect. She was tall, her black hair streaked with white and teased and gelled until it resembled an sculpture more than hair. Her form was hidden under a thick coat that looked so soft that Rapunzel's fingers twitched to touch it.

She held one of the biggest guns Rapunzel had ever seen. It was silver and bulky, with red and yellow lights and what looked like a power cell that glowed with blue, swirling light like gathering storm clouds. With a disregard for all safety, the woman waved it about with one hand, even though it would be impossible to aim like that. It looked more like a ray gun off a television show than a rifle and Rapunzel wondered if it shoot bullets or some kind of plasma. Maybe it was a freeze ray. Maybe it turned people into hell hounds. Aided by the pounding in her head and her arm, her imagination ran wild until the woman's voice pulled her back to the moment.

"The police want to send in a negotiator!" She laughed, pressing a hand to her mid-drift as if it were too funny to stomach. "A negotiator! Oh, mayor, your forces _cling_ to their procedures. Don't they?"

The mayor's scowl deepened, and the woman laughed again, her coat slipping down her shoulder until she spun away, adjusting herself.

"Someday this wretched city - your kingdom of sunshine and quaint fishing vessels and the promise of fulfilled dreams - Ha! It will fall, collapsing into ashes. And everyone will see it for what it truly is. None of your cleaver speeches will be able to shield your citizens from the truth. And _I_ - I will rule!" She laughed again, tilting her head back to let her tainted joy flow out of her.

Rapunzel made a face, wrinkling her nose, then looked around again. Wood support beams crisscrossed the ceiling, holding up the vaulted roof. She slipped to the edge of the balcony, where she would be draped in shadow the way the woman below was draped in her coat. Climbing onto the base of one of the support beams, she eased her way out, her toes gripping against the beam, as the balcony fell away and a two story drop gaped below her. It would be a long fall, and a hard one, and, with a sweeping burst of nausea, she could picture herself tumbling down to smash against the granite mosaic below. The beam was the only thing between her and an empty space so vast that even the woman's laughter and the growling of the hell hounds couldn't fill it.

Her hands trailed the ceiling for balance until the distance between the roof and the beam became too great and she could no longer reach except with her fingertips. For a moment she was suspended, only her boots holding her in place, her arms thrown out in vain for balance. Then she ducked down to flatten her palms in front of her feet and fight off the vertigo. She swallowed and moved farther out, into the very center of the room.

She came to rest exactly over Cruella's head.

Now she just needed the perfect moment, perfect timing when everyone was looking away and nothing was aimed at the hostages. Maybe one of them would leave or the police would cause a distraction. Maybe if she waited for the negotiator...

Her arm ached, her right hand not gripping the support beam below her as tightly as it should. She reached for it to find that her hasty bandage had soaked through, and as she watched a few droplets of blood trickled down, into space, into a fall that she couldn't stop. All she could do was watch with wide eyes and a panicked desire to throw herself forward and catch them.

Three little specks sprinkled against the woman's coat, bright red on pure white.

Rapunzel couldn't breathe.

Cruella blinked and stared down at the spot, then raised a long finger to dab at it curiously and rub the substance between her fingers. With a painful slowness, she raised her eyes to the rafters, as did everyone else in the room.

Rapunzel sprung before their eyes could meet, before Cruella could see Rapunzel's fear, before the giant gun could be aimed at her. She threw herself down, her long hair rippling out behind her, to land with a glare in a crouch just a breath away from her target. The woman hefted her gun into position, but Rapunzel threw a punch into her stomach, knocking the breath from her, forcing her to double over. With an uppercut the the jaw, Cruella stumbled backwards. Rapunzel grabbed the gun to jerk it from her grasp, and sent a lurch through the bony woman's body that pulled them back together to clash again.

To the side, Sargent Weaver took his chance and threw himself against the closest thug, whose eyes were on Rapunzel in slack jawed incomprehension. They barreled to the ground, punching and grunting as the Sargent wrestled the gun from his hands and the hostages screamed. The hell hounds howled and cried, and their handler needed all his strength and attention to keep them from exploding away from him.

Rapunzel grabbed Cruella's wrist and spun, switching their positions as a bullet flew past her hair. One of the thugs had regained his gun. She struck again, then twisted once more.

The fur coat _was_ soft.

Cruella's surprise melted into molten anger, and she let loose a terrible, disgusted cry as she shook the crazy ray gun to throw Rapunzel off, and tried to maneuver it through the narrow space between their bodies. Rapunzel was quick on her toes, spinning and dodging and dealing lightning fast strikes as she used the cover of Cruella's overlarge coat against the gunman. Somewhere someone was shouting, but the words blurred together and even the tone was lost to the shrieks of frightened hostages and the deep barking of the hounds.

The ray gun went off, all sound disappearing in the moment before it fired as if her eardrums had burst. Then a bolt of blue light flew past her elbow and the wall behind her exploded, sending flaming rubble into the air. The screaming and chaos intensified. On her next spin around, she saw a great hole in the wall, letting in the pale sky and brisk afternoon sun. Then she was twirling again, refocusing her efforts.

With her face contorted in rage, Cruella sunk her spider like fingers and long, purple nails into Rapunzel's wounded arm. Pain exploded as if her flesh had been ripped to the bone, as if her wrist had been shattered and stabbed with needles. Her neck and shoulder screamed as if the muscles could scramble and rebel and tear off her arm to stop the pain. Only through the sheer, unconscious stubbornness of her muscle memory did she manage to hold her grip on the gun and keep her balance as they spun again, spots bursting behind her eyes.

She screamed in pain, but as her vision cleared she found the cry had twisted into something enraged, something determined. Something unstoppable.

The sharp look in her eyes startled Cruella, even in the midst of their battle and a split second later, Rapunzel threw the butt of the rifle against her face, throwing her to the floor in a pile of splayed limbs and ermine.

Rapunzel found herself panting, seething, and standing over Cruella with her feet planted and both hands on the gun, charged and aimed at the woman below her.

To one side there was the click of a hammer being drawn back and she found Sargent Weaver standing over one of the thugs in the same position. His eye met hers briefly with a spark of approval and pride that filled her with a warmth despite all the pain and the dizziness.

Her gaze snapped to the other thug. She had his boss and his friend at gunpoint and he was outclassed with no means of victory. Obviously, he should surrender.

He tossed aside his shot gun.

Then he dropped his hold on the hell hounds.

And they came barreling forward, one charging full speed at Sargent Weaver, who shot at it repeatedly, then rolled out of the way when the beast didn't stop.

Rapunzel fumbled with her gun as the hell hound charged her, snarling to show every last tooth, saliva flying out behind it. She'd been bluffing. She had no idea how to use a weapon as complicated as the one she now held, and a moment later - as the beast leapt over Cruella's fallen form – she swung it with all her might at the creature's head. It thunked on impact and the snarling cut off for a second. She threw herself to the side and the monster missed her, landing and wildly shaking its head before snorting and turning back to her.

Harsh fingers griped her ankle, jerking her to the ground, and she fell hard on her elbow, barely avoiding smacking her jaw against the floor. Then Cruella was on her, pinning her down, forcing the side of the gun against her throat to choke her. The metal bit into her throat, and more than suffocating her, she felt as though her windpipe would collapse beneath the weight.

The hell hound braced itself against the tile and tore forward again.

Cruella rolled at the last minute, and the dog jumped at Rapunzel. Without a moment to gasp with relief, she kicked against the hound's chest, sending it flying past her head. Following the kick, she landed on her knees and spun in time to see the hound land awkwardly on the floor, stumbling and nearly falling onto its face.

It regained its feet, limping now, but just as angry and vicious as before.

And Cruella was off the floor now too, pushing herself up and shrugging her coat back into place.

The dog barked and charging again, and both women spun out of its way to let it barrel between them.

She had no time to breathe, no time to coddle her burning arm or her jarred elbow, the blood now dripping from her forehead or the continued sting in her side. She threw herself forward to swing the gun at Cruella's head. The woman dodged, shooting out a claw like hand at Rapunzel's face. The woman's nails slashed at her side, at her arm, they caught momentarily in her hair and yanked before Rapunzel could retaliate.

"You horrid little brat!" Cruella seethed.

Rapunzel dug up a smirk, one she'd picked up from Flynn Rider without realizing it. "I ruined your plan down at the courthouse too."

Cruella's face turned even more unattractive with her dawning horror and she let out a cry, flying forward to claw at her again.

Like the cape of a matador, Cruella's cape twirled out, confusing the dog that flew past and between and around as the women spun, avoiding each other and the hound. Rapunzel's hair trailed after her, a phantom of where she stood just a second before. A loop of hair danced beside her with each flick of her wrist, changing the hound's trajectory, snatching at Cruella's wrist, at her arm, at her neck.

With the overlarge gun in one hand and her hair in the other, she had little room to deal actual damage. Her fatigue encroached on her with each second that the fight continued, and now she was fighting just to stay afloat.

Cruella's hand found her face, and she jerked away and off balance, feeling the nails scrape against her skin, leaving thin trails of blood in their wake. In her moment of disorientation, the dog was on her again, and she swung wildly with the gun to throw it off. She hit it this time in the ear, and somewhere in the clunk of metal on skull, the gun began to hum in her hands. Falling back, the hound tripped over Cruella's coat, and she shrieked, stumbling to the side and grabbing for the gun, which now whined as something charged within it.

It slipped from Rapunzel's fingers. The whine built in pressure, in volume, in pitch.

Cruella's face fell.

And Rapunzel dove away as it exploded in a blinding burst of light.

The blast threw her to the floor, where she threw her arms over her head as chunks of tile rained down on her and flames licked over her back. The ringing in her ears blotted out the silence that followed, and she looked up to see only a burnt crater where Cruella and the hell hound once stood.

Charred fur, some still on fire, floated down like snow. It was impossible to tell if it was ermine or hell hound. An awful smell left a film over her skin that might never wash away.

Part of that smell was her burnt hair, wasn't it?

In a daze, she caught sight of Sargent Weaver, panting in front of the first hole she'd blown in the wall, giving her a shocked look before the hell hound facing him charged with a roar. It jumped at him. He ducked. And the beast flew over his head, scrambling at the air and snapping at his face, trying to backtrack in its flight before it toppled through the hole in the wall and disappeared with a stifled cry.

Snapped from whatever distraction he had felt at the explosion, the Sargent found his feet again and charged toward one of the thugs, firing once before throwing a punch.

The other henchman moved to aid his friend, firing a poorly aimed shot at Weaver from his shotgun, and Rapunzel jumped to her feet and rushed to meet him. She caught him in the side, then knocked the gun from his hands with a kick. She dodged a punch and found herself back to back with the Sargent.

Weaver was built like a boxer. He had a stocky build with wide, square shoulders. He was light on his feet, but his fists were solid against whatever they hit. His long, torn coat flared out behind him as he bobbed back and to the side.

"You alright?" he asked with a grunt, dodging a fist and throwing his own at his attacker.

She fell into a crouch to duck a wild swing, then exploded up to ram her knee into the man's chest. "Yeah. You?"

"This isn't how I planned to spend the day."

She laughed, still dizzy and bleeding and trying not to slow down.

"What happened at High Tower last night?"

"They abducted Rider," she said, blocking a blow and shifting to the side to protect her aching arm. "I had to save him."

"You didn't _have_ to."

"Yeah. I did. They're evil people. No one deserves that." She twisted to the side, the thug's fist gliding past her shoulder blades. The man fighting the Sargent went for one of the discarded guns and she kicked him from behind, throwing him off balance. Weaver blocked a blow from the other man before it could hit her and they switched opponents with ease.

"Where's your beau now?" he asked.

"Don't know."

"But he is your beau."

"Yeah." She spun around her attacker, hitting him once in each kidney, her hair catching at his ankles. "I think we moved in together."

"You think? You should probably find that out."

"Probably. I'll put it on my to do list."

Her hair snapped around her attacker's arm, twisting him around so his jaw rammed into her fist with even more force than usual. He crumpled to the ground and Rapunzel spun, hit the other thug in the side, and with two hits from Weaver, he fell to the floor as well.

Rapunzel grinned at her friend, whose mustache twitched in what she'd learned counted as a smile.

He didn't say a word, and instead turned to the hostages, sighing and stomping off to help one of the council women to her feet.

The mayor looked flabbergasted. He didn't quite know what to say and he ran a hand through his thinning hair, his eyes darting from the crater in the center of the room, to the Sargent, to the hole in the wall through which they could now see a white helicopter, to Rapunzel, who offered him a hesitant smile. She was starting to feel woozy. He coughed and straightened his tie. She noted that his hands were shaking, but also that he concealed it well.

"That was... incredible."

Rapunzel checked over her shoulder and wondered if the mayor could see the same damage she could see. Incredible wouldn't be her first pick of words.

"You saved us all."

"I had Sargent Weaver's help."

He snorted somewhere behind the mayor, but covered it with a cough as he helped someone else to stand.

"There are still three men in the entrance hall. And I found more in the tunnels. They were trying to send some kind of chemical up into one of the court rooms." Maybe if she shifted to more practical matters, the mayor would stop looking at her like she was the most amazing thing ever. She didn't like people staring at her.

Weaver groaned. "That'll be Horace. One of their members that got caught. They're supposed to have a ruling for his case today."

"And you stopped them as well?" the mayor asked. His eyes were widening with new levels of awe.

Rapunzel shifted. "I just ran into them."

The mayor nodded, still looking shell shocked and enamored. Rapunzel tried to figure out the fastest way out of the building.

From behind her came the sound of a pump action shotgun being cycled.

Her smile vanished and she turned slowly to face the thug aiming a gun at her head. He leaned heavily to one side, blood dripping down over a swelled eye and split lip. Unbridled rage as she'd seen in the eyes of the hell hounds burned across his face. She'd hurt him and his friends. She'd ruined their plan. She'd humiliated them all. And he didn't care for a second that this would be the last thing he would ever do. He would get revenge and Sargent Weaver would put a bullet through his chest.

He grinned, a crazed, hysterical grin that showed bloodied teeth, and raised the gun a fraction of an inch, setting it more firmly against his shoulder and taking aim.

Rapunzel swallowed. She felt cold and tired. She ought to feel helpless. She ought to kick herself for letting some criminal get the last word. But instead there was just numb acceptance that let her meet the man's eyes without fear.

She swayed on her feet.

"Say goodnight," he hissed.

Then he crumpled to the floor as a form dropped from the ceiling to land on top of him, grab hold of his collar, and snap a fist to his face that knocked him out cold.

Flynn pushed himself to his feet, shook out his hand and muttered something before looking Rapunzel straight in the eye. No one had ever looked more handsome.

"You okay?"

She was fine. She might pass out now, but she was fine.

Any response she had caught in her throat, and she let a smile slip onto her face under all the cuts and scrapes and singe marks as joy rippled up through her numb form. Only shock and exhaustion held her back from crying out and running at him.

Behind her, the mayor apparently thought Flynn was talking to him, and answered before she could kick herself into speaking. A moment into his speech she realized that he not only thought Flynn had spoken to him and gave a damn about his well being, but also thought that he had been the thug's primary target.

Flynn blinked and shot Rapunzel a look that asked if the man was crazy, but he was smart enough not to comment or contradict that assertion. She saw the moment when it dawned on him that Flynn Rider had just personally saved the mayor.

She watched as he cleared his throat, took a breath, and let it happen.

Behind her, Sargent Weaver sighed.

And Rapunzel wiped blood from her forehead, grinning and lightheaded as everything turned out for the best.

* * *

><p>They sat on the sofa a week later, watching television when someone knocked at the door. Eugene disentangled himself with a mutter to answer it, and Rapunzel giggled before snuggling into the warm spot he'd left. He'd grumble more when he came back and had to move her, and she'd like that too.<p>

"Hey," he called. "Did you order take out?"

"No."

He reappeared carrying a brown paper bag with a red stamp of some undecipherable logo printed on it. He held it sideways as though it would drip and spill if he changed orientations.

"Well, we got some." He set it on the table and she sat up, curious enough to find out what was inside that she let him find his spot again without too much shoving and snuggling.

Two silver, aluminum trays were stacked inside, each covered with white cardboard as if they were going to have a big buffet. She set to work pulling back the little foil edge that held the cardboard in place.

"That's a lot of food," Eugene noted. "We'll be eating whatever it is for a week."

"Let's hope it's good."

"Hmm. Maybe we shouldn't eat random take out that shows up."

"Did they just hand it to you or did you pay for it?"

"Twenty crowns."

"Eugene," she chided, pausing to look up at him. "They sent this to the wrong house and you took someone's dinner."

He shrugged, and she shook her head, continuing to open the tray. She removed the cardboard easily and set it aside.

Then she froze.

Inside, folded neatly, was a black leather jacket. Frowning, she pulled it out and held it up. It was the same general style as her Blondie suit, complete with gold stripes down the side and a zipper up the front. But this one was made of thicker material, missing the cute zipper pull, and it looked as though it would zip all the way to the throat. For a moment she thought it was a jacket for the upcoming winter months. But it was far too large for her.

Far too masculine.

Eugene had fallen silent beside her, and it took him a moment to find words.

"What the hell is that?"

Rapunzel tried to act as if her insides weren't singing as she tossed the jacket at him.

"Edna Mode sent you a present."


End file.
